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UNIVERSITY OF 
NORTH CAROLINA 





ENDOWED BY THE 
DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 





PG3421 ) 


-D93 
1872 


UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHA 


_ tT 
bi 10000471687 
This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 


last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold it may be 
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RET. 


DATE 
RET. 








a 


LA Digitized by he intemet Ar hive 








BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
Leisure Hour Series. 


FATHERS AND SONS. Translated from the Russian, by 
EuGENE SCHUYLER, Ph.D. 


SMOKE. Translated from the Author’s French version, by 
Won. F. West, A.M 


LIZA. Translated from the Russian, by W. R. S. Rarstron. 


ON THE EVE. Translated from the Russian, by C. E. 
TURNER. 


DIMITRI ROUDINE. Translated from the French and 
German versions. 


‘ 


ae 
SPRING FLOODS. Translated by Mrs. Sopyrze MIcHELL 
Butts; A LEAR OF THE STEPPE. Translated by 
Wma. HAND Browne. Together in one volume. 


VIRGIN SOIL. Translated with the author’s sanction, by 
S. PERRY. 


° 


BELISUREOHOCR SERIES. 


SMOKE 


PA RUSSIAN NOVEL 


SESe. 
/ 
4 


BY 


IVAN TURGENIEFF  / O47 ) 


Translated from the Authors French Version 


BY 


WM. FF. WEST, A.M: 





NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1873 








sntered according to Act of Congress in the year 1872, 
By HOLT & WILLIAMS 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 





Trow’s 
PRINTING AND BooKBINDING Co., 
PRINTERS, 
205-213 Hast 12th St., 
NEW YORK. 


4 ” 





Zoo-EH CAZOOK CLABBER 


DPoG-FISH CADOON he 


SMOKE, 





eh the afternoon of the roth of August, 1862, a great 
crowd was gathered in front of the celebrated Con- 
versation House at Baden-Baden. The weather was de- 
lightful. The green trees, the neat white houses of the 
pretty town, and the grand old mountains which towered 
above hen, all seemed rejoicing in the bright sunshine. 
Nature wore a smiling face, and her joyous and holiday 
look was reflected in the features of all, whether old 
or young, homely or beautiful. Even the painted and 
powdered faces of the Parisian lorettes did not detract 
from the general gayety of the scene; their bright ribbons 
and feathers, and the glittering ornaments of gold and 
steel on their hats and veils, called to mind- the bright 
colors of spring flowers and the fluttering of gayly- 
tinted wings. Here the comparison must end, how- 
4 le 7 
T1364 





4 Smoke. 


ever, for the harsh tones of their French jargon bore no 


_ resemblance to the sweet voices of the birds. 


The other surroundings of the place wore their usual 
look. The pavilion orchestra was playing now a potpourri 


from Zraviata, now a Strauss waltz, or the Russian 


— romanza, Dites-lui, arranged for the band by the oblig- 


ing chapel-master. Around the green tables in the 
gambling hall were to be found the customary faces,with 
their stupefied, greedy and fierce expression, that ¢hzéf’s 
Zook, which the gambling fever imprints upon the most 


noble features. There could be seen the stout propri- 


| etor of Tambof, dressed in the most elegant bad taste, 


and almost crazy with excitement, (as his father used 
to be when beating his serfs.) His eyes seemed start- 
ing from his head, and he leaned anxiously forward 
above the table, regardless of the cold smiles of the 
croupters, while he threw down his. louis, each time too 
late to play, thus losing whatever chance there might 
be of gain. This, however, did not prevent him in the 
evening from repeating, with a great show of sympathy, 
the sayings of Prince Coco, the most celebrated among 
the nobility of the opposition party; the same Prince 
Coce who, at Paris, in the salon of Princess Mathilde, 





Smoke. 5 


and in the Emperor’s presence, so neatly said: ‘‘ Mad- - 


ame, in Russia, the property-holder has lost all his rights.” 


As usual, our dear countrymen and countrywomen 


= : 
were grouped about ‘‘the Russian Tree;” they met each 


other with that dignified nxonchalance, that noble air 
which naturally belongs to beings standing on the high- 


est rounds of the social ladder; but once seated all 


conversation ceased, and they endeavored to kill time, ~ 


either by doing nothing at all, or by laughing at the 


stale, flat,and unrefined jokes of a@sBohemian from Paris, 


a prating clown, who wore a miserable little beard upon 


his chin, and ugly shoes on his flat feet. His jokes, © 


which were taken from old almanacs, from Charivari 
and Z7intamarre, he retailed to these Russian princes, 
who replied by shouts’ of laughter, thus bearing witness 
to the great superiority of foreign wit, and to their own 
poverty of invention. Notwithstanding, these were the 
flower of our society, the most refined types of our coun- 
trymen. There was Count X., our incomparable dilet- 
tante, a great musical nature, who discourses vomanzas 
so divinely, though he can not read without stumbling, 
and his singing resembles that of a Parisian barber. 


There was our irresistible baron Z., expert in everything ; 


P 


6 Smoke. 


editor, statesman, orator and scholar. There was Prince 
Y., a friend of religion and ofthe people, who had built up 


a colossal fortune, by buying a license to manufacture 


brandy, and then making it from belladonna. There was 


the brilliant General O., who had conquered some one 
or something, but who did not know how to control or 
properly present himself. There was P., an amusing 
fellow, who was thought to be an invalid and a man of 
great discernment, but who was réally as strong as an ox 
and stupid as a log; he was faithful to the traditions of 
the Countess Vorotinski, and devoted himself to ‘‘ the 
practice of deportment,” walking on his heels slowly and 
affectedly, training his otherwise expressionless features 
into a look of sleepy surliness, interrupting those speaking 
to him with a yawn, laughing through his nose, looking 
carefully at his fingers and nails, or suddenly pushing his 
hat from the back of his head to his eyebrows and w7ce- 
versa. ‘There were statesmen and diplomatists of Euro- 
pean renown, men of thought and culture, who believed 
that Irish bulls were issued by the Pope, and that the 
poor-tax was levied oz the poor; and, finally, there were 
the ardent but timid adorers of the stage, the young lions 


with hair carefully parted behind, with truly magnificent 


Smoke. ” 


side-whiskers, and wearing clothes of London cut. It 
seemed as though nothing was wanting to put these gen- 
tlemen on a footing with the Paris clown, but it was never- 
theless a fact that our ladies slighted them. Even the 
Countess C., the renowned leader of fashion, nicknamed 
by malicious tongues ‘‘the queen of the wasps,” and 
** Medusa in bonnet strings,” gave the preference, in the 
clown’s absence, to the Italians, the Moldavians, the 
shrewd Americans, the witty secretaries of foreign embas- 
sies, or even to the young German barons, all of whom 
were hovering near her. About this star revolved the 
Princess Babette, in whose arms Chopin expired, (there 
are a thousand ladies in Europe who had the same honor); 
the Princess Annette, who would be irresistible, if she did 
not so Strongly resemble a stout country washerwoman ; 
the unlucky Princess Pachette, whose husband had just 
been appointed provincial governor, when suddenly, God 
only knows why, he had beaten the mayor of his native 
town and run off with 20,900 roubles belonging to the 
crown; and last but not least, the noisy Mademoiselle 
Zizi, and the tearful Mademoiselle Zozo: these ladies all 
coldly turned their backs upon their countrymen. Letus 


too, hereleave them, and turn away from this celebrated 


8 Smoke. 


tree, under the shade of which are displayed so many 
brilliant costumes, their extravagance exceeded only by 


their bad taste. May God lighten the burden of ennui 
which they conceal. 





= 
% * 


CHAPTER II. 


. Ashort distance from the “ Russian tree,” a man of 
about thirry was seated by a little table of the Café We- 
ber. He was of medium height, of slight but well knit 
frame, and his handsome and manly face was well bronzed 


by the sun. Both his hands rested lightly on his cane, 


_and he wore a careless look, as though a stranger to those 


about him, and perfectly indifferent to their opinion. 
His large brown eyes glanced expressively over the sur- 


rounding scene, now half closing as though dazzled by 


the sunlight, and now following some eccentric figure, at 


the sight of which his face would break into a pleasant 
smile. He wore a coat of German make, and a gray felt 


hat shaded his broad brow. At the first glance, he seemed 


an honorable and energetic young man, with not too poor 


an opinion of himself, such a person as we often meet? 


with in the world. He appeared to be taking a rare holi- 


als 


pees ine NT A TOTNES ASAE Om tt es 


ene” 


Ae AREER IHG Nee 


i: 
a 


@ 


10 Smoke. 


day, and to enjoy the picture before his eyes, the more 


from its contrast to those scenes with which he had been 


familiar. He was a Russian: by name Gregory Mikhail. 
ovitch* Litvinof. 

We must make the acquaintance of this young man, 
and as a preliminary step thereto, will glance briefly .at 
the early portion of his life, which had not thus far proved 
a very eventful one. . 

His father was a clerk belonging to the mercantile class. 
and lived in a country town. 

His mother was of a noble family, gentle and eee, 
yet energetic; she was younger than her husband by 
twenty years, and exerted all her power and influence to 
improve his mind and manners. Thanks to her, he be- 
gan to dress in good taste, and to behave properly; he 
stopped swearing, and was respectful to scientific and 
learned men, though he would not take the trouble to 
read himself; he even attempted to walk with a slower 
step, and to converse in a more subdued tone. Some- 
times his former nature would get the upper hand, and 


he would mutter between his teeth, when some one of- 


*It is customary in Russia to connect the father’s name with that of the 
thild. Mikhailovitch means Michael’s son, 


Smoke. 12 


fended him, ‘¢How Ishould like to thrash that fellow!” 
but would immediately add, ‘‘ No doubt it isso... we 
must think of the matter.” His wife conducted her 
household affairs after the fashion of Western Europe; 
she kept her servants at a distance, -and would not allow 
any one to play the glutton at her table. Neither she 
nor her husband knew how to manage her estate, which 
had been much neglected, and was of great extent, com- ¥ 
prising prairies, woods and a lake, on the shore of 
which a factory had of late years been built by a gentle- | 
man of more ene rgy than prudence. This factory had.} 
done well in the hands of a crafty merchant, but had 
_ afterward run down under the management of an nn | 

German manufacturer. 

Madame Litvinof, however, was satisfied so long as she 
was not losing money, or running into debt. Unfortu- 
nately her health failed her, and she died of consumption, 
the very year in which her son entered the University, of 
Moscow. ‘Circumstances which will be related “imcthe 
course of our story, prevented Gregory Litvinof from fin- 
ishing his university course, and hezeturned to the coun~ 
try, where he passed some time in idle seclusion. He _) 


found that the gentlemen of his neighborhood bore him 


4 ae 
‘i ‘ ASE > ’ a 


12 Smoke. 


no good-will, and they finally caused him to be drafted 

in the so-called voluntcers of 1955. Litvinof barely es- 
caped with his life from an attack of typhus fever in the 
Crimea, where he was quartered in a mud hut for six 
months, without seeing a soldier of the Allies; he after- 
wards filled an elective office in his native province, and 
igs finally settled down to the study and practice of agricul- 
[ture He perceived that his mother’s estate, so badly 
managed by his father, did not yield a tenth part of the 
revenue which might be obtained from it; but he also 
understood that in order to properly direct it himself, he 
needed study and experience, and to gain these he de- 
{termined to travel; he spent nearly four years in Meck- 
lenburg, Silesia and at Carlsruhe; he visited Belgium 
and England, worked hard and made acquaintances. 
This was no pleasant task to him, but he kept at it faith- 
fully till it was finished, and now, feeling confidence in 
himself and in the future, and knowing that he could be 

of service to his neighbors, and perhaps even to his coun- 
try, he was on his way home, whither he had been called 
"by his father, who was completely demoralized by eman- 
cipation, and the changes following in its train. But 


why does he stop at Baden? 


Smoke. bees 


He is at Baden, because he is there awaiting the arrival 
of his cousin, Tatiana Petrovna Chestof, to whom he is 
betrothed. He had known her from childhood, and had 
| passed the early summer with her at Dresden, where she 
resided with her aunt. His love for the young girl had 
been founded upon deep respect; and as he had finished 
his preparatory labors, and a new career was opening be- 
fore him, he had offered himself to her for better or for 
worse, as the English say. She had accepted him, and 
he had hurried back te Carlsruhe to pack up his 
books and papers. But why, you again ask, is he at 
Baden. z 

Because Tatiana’s aunt,.Capitoline Markovna Chestot, 
an old maid of fifty, very odd in her manners, but kind 
and self-sacrificing, a, free thinker (she read Strauss, but 
concealed it from her niece), a lover of the people, and 
hater of the aristocracy, had not been able to resist the 
temptation of taking one look at the fashionable world, 
as seen at Baden-Baden. Capitoline Markovna dressed 
in the plainest manner, and wore her white hair short; 
she was secretly much troubled with thoughts of luxury 


and elegance, and therefore took great pleasure in loudly 


14 Smoke. 


inveighing against all such vanities. Why then not 
gratify the old lady’s whim? 

These facts explain why Litvinof was so contented, and 
why he glanced about him with so confident an air. His 
path in life lay clearly before him, free from every ob- 
stacle, and he was proud of this happy fortune, which he 
looked upon as having been carved out by his own hon- 
est hands. 


4 


CHAPTER III. 


“‘Bzh! bah! bah! so you are here!” cried a shrill 
voice in his ear, while a heavy hand rested on his 
shoulder. He raised his head and recognized one of his 
few Muscovite acquaintances, a certain Bambaef, a good 
enough fellow, but very shiftless withal. His cheeks and 
nose had a soft look, as thou gh they had been well boiled, 
his greasy hair was in disorder, and his whole appear- 
ance was flabby in the extreme. Always penniless, and 


always an enthusiast on one subject or another, Rostislaf 


Bambaef went about the world without purpose, but cer- 


tainly not without noise. 

‘Well! this is unexpected,” he continued, opening 
wide his eyes and pouting his thick lips, above which a 
thin, dyed moustache was visible, ‘‘ here we meet in 
Baden-Baden! But what brings you here?” 


“I have been here four days.” 


= 


16 Smoke. 


‘Where do you come from?” 

‘What difference does that make to you?” 

‘* What difference does it make! Butperhaps you are 
not aware that Goubaref too is here? He arrived yester- 
day from Heidelberg. Of course you know him?” 

“‘T have heard of him.” 

“Ts that all? I must introduce you to hiin at once. 
The idea of not knowing such aman! But here is my 
friend Vorochilof. Perhaps you are not acquainted with 


him? Allow me to introduce you to each other. You 


~ are both learned men. Vorochilof here is a phoenix.” 


vr 


While thus speaking, Bambaef turned toward a fine 
looking young man, with a fresh and ruddy face, but 
with a look too sedate for his age. Litvinof rose and 
bowed to ‘‘ the phoenix,” who, to judge from the gravity 
of his countenance, did not seem particularly flattered by 
this unexpected introduction. ; 

‘‘T said a phcenix, and I did not use too strong a 
word,” Continued Bambaef. “‘ Go to the College of St. 
Petersburg, and look at the roll of merit. What name 
occupies the first place? That of Simon lakovleviteh 
Vorochilof! But we must visit Goubaref at once, He 


isa man whom I revere, and I am not the only one... . 





Smoke. 17 


IEvery one who can appreciate true mierit, reveres him. 
What a great work he is now writing !” 

*“On what subject?” asked Litvinof. 

“On every subject, my friend. It isa work after the 
manner of Buckle, but much more profound and compre- 
hensive. Everything will be explained and all questions 
settled by it.” 

‘* Have you read it?” 

“Oh! no, I have not read it, in fact what I have told 
you is a secret that you must not repeat; but then we 
may expect everything from Goubaref!” Here Bambaef 
sighed and crossed his arms. ‘* Ah! if there were only 
two or three more such heads in Russia! You will find, 
Gregory Mikhailovitch, that whatever you may have stud- 
ied in the last few years during which I have lost sight ot 


you, or whatever your convictions now may be, you can 


learn much from Goubaref. Unfortunately, he is here 


only for a short time. We must visit himat once. Come 
on! come on!” : ) 

As these words were spoken, a young fop, with curly 
a hair, wearing a hat ornamented with a sky-blue rib- 
bon, passed by and cast upon Bambaef a scornfil look 


Litvinof was provoked. — 


18 Smoke. 


** Why are you so noisy?” hesaid. ‘ One would think 
you were shouting in the chase.. But I have not dined 
yet.” ; 

‘‘Indeed,” said Bambaef, ‘‘then we can all dine to; ~ 
gether at Weber’s. It will be charming. You have 
money enough to pay for me?” he added in a low tone. 

** Yes, but—” 

‘Oh! no thanks! it will give us great pleasure to pass 
the hour with you.” ‘‘ Ah!” cried Bambaef suddenly, 
‘*the band are playing the finale from Ernani. How 
beautiful! Ok! som... . mo Carlo. It brings tears 
to my eyes. Come, Simon Iakovlevitch, let us go.” 

Vorochilof, who had remained during all this time, 
standing stiff and motionless, lowered his eyes in a digni- 
fied way and muttered something to himself, but did not 
refuse the proposition; Litvinof also resigned himself to 
his fate. Bambaef took him by the arm, but before en- 
tering the café, beckoned to Isabelle, the well-known 
flower-girl of the Jockey Club, to bring him a bouquet. 
The aristocratic flower-girl did not stir; she did not care 
to serve such a shabby customer. On being motioned to 
by Vorochilof, however, she came forward, when he picked 


out from her basket a little bunch of violets, at the same 
i 


Smoke. 19 


time throwing her a forin. He evidently thceught his 
generosity would surprise her, but it had not the least 
effect. Vorochilof was elegantly and stylishly dressed, 
but the experienced eye of the young girl at once detected 
the absence in ‘him of the true aristocratic air, 

After taking their places in the main hall at Weber’s 
and ordering dinner, our friends began to converse. Bam- 
baef with much warmth, again dilated in a noisy and de- 
monstrative manner upon the great merits of Goubaref; 
soon, however, he ceased speaking, and began to sigh, as 
he swallowed glass after glass of nines Vorochilof ate 
‘and drank sparingly, seeming to have but little appetite. 
Having first questioned Litvinof concerning his work and 
studies, he began to expatiate upon his own opinions, less 
in relation to Litvinot’s pursuits, than with reference to 

various ‘‘ questions,” which he himself introduced. Sud- 
denly he began to speak in an excited and rapid manner, 
with many gestures, emphasizing every syllable, like «a 
graduate delivering an oration at commencement. The 
further he advanced in his discourse, the more eloquent 
and enthusiastic he became. No one interrupted him ; 
he seemed to be veading a composition or dissertation. 


‘The names of learned contemporaries, the exact dates of 


@ 





= : OC at 
SECRET even me 
ee 


tenon 


| 
| 
| 
‘ 
| 


20 Smoke. 


their births and deaths, the titles of their latest woiks, 


r-name after name, glided rapidly from his lips, causing him 


an inward joy, which his eyes could not conceal. Voro- 
chilof held in contempt all that was old; he respected 
only the latest discoveries of science. To quote a work of 
Dr. Zauerbengel on the Prisons of Pennsylvania, or the 
article on the Vedas in the last number of the Asiatic 
Journal (he always said Journal, though he did not un- 
derstand English) made him very happy.  Litvinof list- 
ened, without being able to determine what his especial 
acquizements were. Now he was speaking of the records 
of the Celtic race in history ; this took him back to ancient 
times, and he spoke concerning the marbles of A©gina and 
of Onatas, the predecessor of Phidias, whom he called 
Jonathan, thus giving his discourse a flavor, half Biblical 
and half American ; then he suddenly launched into poli- 
tical economy, calling Bastiat a simpleton, of no more 
real merit than Adam Smith and the rest of the physio- © 
crats.” 

‘*Physiocrats? rather aristocrats!” interposed Bam- 
baefin a low tone. Vorochilof succeeded finally, how- 
ever, in surprising even Bambaef himself, by speaking 


of Macaulay as a writer who was behind the age. © As to 


Smoke. 21 


Gnéist and Riehl, he declared they were not worth 
mentioning, and shrugged his shoulders, which gesture 
Bambaef hastened to imitate at once. 

**He is speaking thus, without any object in view, 
before strangers in a café,” thought Litvinof as he looked 
upon the violent gestures of his new acquaintance, ‘‘and 
he does not see the absurdity of his position! Poor 
fellow ! he seems very inexperienced.” At last Vorochilof 
stepped: his voice, which had become as shrill and 
hoarse as that of a young rooster, was suddenly hushed. 
Bambaef then recited a few lines of poetry, and again 
burst into tears, to the great dismay of an English family, 
sitting at the table on the right, and the amusement oi 
two women of the town, who were dining with an old 
looking, young man at the table on the left. The waiter 
brought the bill, and our friends rose from the table. 

‘** Now,” cried Bambaef, springing on a chair, ‘‘a cup 
of coffee, and we are off! These are the kind of men we 
have in Russia,” he added, as they reached the door, 
pointing with his coarse, red hand to Vorochilof and 
Litvinof. . 

Yes, these are the kind of men we have, thought 


Litvinof. Vorochilof had already put on his air of 


22 Smoke. 


dignity ; he smiled coldly, as he struck his heels together 
in a military manner. 

Five minutes afterward, our three friends arrived at 
the hotel where Stephen Nicolaevitch Goubaref was 
stopping. 

As they were going up the staircase, they met a lady 
of commanding appearance, whose face was partly con- 
cealed by a short veil. As her glance fell upon Litvinof, 
she started; the blood rushed +0 her face, and then 
retreating, left it as pale as marble. Litvinof had not 


noticed her, and she walked rapidly away. 


- © 


no 
a. 


CHAPTER IV. 


As our friends entered the handsomely furnished and 
well lighted apartments of Goubaref, Bambaef drew 


Litvinof forward, saying: ‘‘ Permit me to introduce my 


friend, Gregory Litvinof, a true Russian and the prince 


of good fellows.” He then added, speaking in a low 
tone to Litvinof, “this is the man himself, this is 
Goubaref.” | 

Litvinof looked attentively upon him, but was not par- 
ticularly impressed by his appearance. Goubaref was a 
small man, with coarse features, thick neck, long beard, 
and downcast eyes, dull looking, but with an air of 
respectability about him. He was dressed in morning 
gown and slippers, and looking up, on being addressed, 
smiled and said: ‘‘Mm—mm—lI am very glad to make 
your popeatetanes een turning his back on Litvinof 


and stroking his. beard, he began, “asain to his habit, 


- 


24 Smoke. 


to walk up and down the room with the soft tread ofa 
cat. There were two other persons with him in the 

E room; the one, a lady with dark complexion, bright and 
staring eyes, and a slight mustache upon her upper lip, 

.an advocate of the rights of woman; the other, a stc1t 
gentleman, who sat by himself in one corner of the 
room. 

‘*Now, my dear Matrena Semenovna,” said Goubaref, 
turning toward this lady, without introducing Litvinof, 
* so on with what you had begun to tell us.” 

a eC his lady, who was kn6wn as Madame Soukhantchikof, 
was a widow without encumbrances or fortune, who had, 
for the last two years, been carrying her Penates from 

“- one country to another. She immediately resumed her 
narrative with a singular volubility. 

“‘ Well, he presented himself before the prince, and 
said to him: ‘ Your Excellency is in a situation to assist 
me; I ask you to consider the purity of my motives. Is 
it possible that, in this country, any one can be persecuted 
for his honest opinions?? Now, what do you suppose 
this prince, fee refined and elevated statesman did ?” 

**What did he do?” asked Goubaref, lighting a cigar- 


ette with an abstracted air, 


Smoke. 258) 


The lady straightened up and stretched out her bony 
hand: ‘He called his servant and said to him: ‘Take 
_ off that man’s coat, and keep it for yourself: I make you 
a present of it,’” 

** Did the servant take it off?” cried Bambaef, striking 
his hands together. 

** He took it off and kept it. This was done by Prince 
Barnaoulof, the rich and famous noble, representative of 
the government, with extraordinary powers. What can 
we expect after that?” 

The angular form of Madame Soukhantchikof trembled 
with emotion, her face worked nervously, and her eyes 
seemed starting from their sockets, a danger to which 
they were always liable, whatever might be the subject of 
the conversation. 

** It is an outrage that cries for vengeance,” said Bam- 
baef. ‘* There is no punishment severe enough for 
him.” 

Seine... -ebime, 1. ~Lhey»y.are! all) corrupt,’; sre- 
marked Goubaref without raising his voice. ‘‘ We do 
not want to punish them, but we must take other 
measures.” 


‘¢ But is this true?” asked Litvinof. 


26 Smoke. 


** True?” cried Madame Soukhantchikof. ‘*It is im-. 
possible to doubt it.”—-She gave the word impossible such 
energetic emphasis, that she bent herself almost double. 
—‘* The most truthful man in the world told me of it. 
You know him—Stephen Nikolaitcht; it was Helistratoi 
Capiton, who was a witness of this disgraceful scene.” 

‘Which Helistratof?” asked Goubaref. ‘‘ The one 
who used to be in Kazan?” 

‘‘The same. I know there was a story about, that he 
had taken bribes from the brandy manufacturers, but who 
started this story? Pélikanof, whose word no one be- 
lieves, for it is well known that he is nothing but a spy.” 

“ Excuse me, Matrena Semenovna,” cried Bambaef, 
* Pelikanof is a friend of mine, he cannot be a spy.” 

savies, yes, he is a spy.” 

pac xcuse MG: 0 ssa 

“A spy! aspy!” cried Madame Soukhantchikof. 

‘ ‘No, no! itis notso. You might say it of Tenteleef, 
perhaps,” muttered Bambaef. 

Madame Soukhantchikof stopped for a moment to take 
breath ; Bambaef profited by this opportunity. ‘I have 
it from good authority,” he said, ‘‘ that when he was sent 


for by the Secret Council, he threw himself at the feet of 


Smoke. 37 


Countess Blasenkrampf, crying: ‘Help me, save me!’ 
Pelikanof has never done anything so mean as that.” 

** Tenteleef” . . . muttered Goubaref, ‘‘I must make 
a note of that.” 

Madame Soukhantchikof shrugged her shoulders with 
inexpressible disdain. ‘‘ They are both of them bad 
enough,” said she. ‘‘I have a still better story though 
to tell you about Tenteleef. He always has been a 
terrible tyrant, you know, though he calls himself a friend 
of emancipation.. One day he was in a drawing-room in 
Paris, when Mrs. Beecher Stowe, the author of Uncle 
‘Tom’s Cabin, you know, entered. Being exceedingly 
vain, Tenteleef asked the host to present him to Mrs. 
Stowe. As soon as she heard his name, she rebuked 
him with these words: ‘How dare you show yourself 
before the author of Uncle Tom! Leave at once!’ and 
she gave him a slap in the face. And what do you 
think? Tenteleef caught up his hat and ran away.” 

** That is a little exaggerated, perhaps,” said Bambaef. 
‘«She told him to leave, there is no doubt of that, but she 
did not slap him.” | 

‘‘She slapped him, she slapped him in the face!” 
Madame Soukhantchikof repeated, in convulsive tones. 
‘‘T am not in the habit of making up my stories So 


these people are your friends?” 


23 Smoke. 


“Excuse me, Matrena Semenovna, I did not say I was 
intimate with Tenteleef; I was only speaking of Pelika- 
nof.”’ 

“If Tenteleef is not your friend, Mikhneef is, per- 
haps.” 

‘What has he done?” asked Bambaef with some 
anxiety. | 

“Done? As if you did not know! He said openly, 
at the corner of Nevski Prospekt and Ascension street, 
that ail the liberals ought to be imprisoned; and when an 
old comrade, who was ‘very poor, once asked him if he 
could dine with him, he replied: ‘No, I have invited two 
counts to dinner to-day; off with you!’” \ 

“Excuse me, but that is not true,” cried Bambaef. 

“Not true! not true! In the first place, Prince 
Vakhrouchine, who also dined with your Mikhneef .. . ” 

‘Prince Vakhrouchine,” interrupted Goubaref in a 
severe tone, ‘is my first cousin, though I do not allow 
him to call on mé. We will not talk of him, if you 
please.” 

“In the second place,” continued. Madame Soukhant- 


chikof, bowing humbly at Goubaref’s remark, ‘‘ Prascovia 
Iakolevna, herself, told me of it.” % 


“You have given excellent authority. She and 


Sarkisof are both manufacturers of news.” 


Smoke. 29 


**Excuse me, Sarkisof is a liar, that is true; he even 


stole the pall from his father’s coffin, but there is no com- 


parison between him and Prascovia Iakolevna. Do you: 


. remember how nobly she left her husband? But, I know 
you are always ready . . 4 

““Come, we have had enough of these disputes, 
Matrena Semenovna,” interrupted Goubaref, ‘“‘let us 
occupy ourselves with higher subjects.. You know that 
the sacred fire is always burning where] am. Have you 
read Mademotselle de la Quintinie? It ig an excellent 
book, and expresses your own ideas!” 

**T never read novels now,” replied Madame Soukhant- 
chikof drily. 

“Why?” 

‘Because I think it is a waste of time; I am at present 
deeply interested in sewing machines.” 

** What machines?” asked Litvinof. 

“Sewing, sewing machines... Every woman must 
obtain one of these sewing machines, and then they must 
all form a society; in this way they will soon become 
perfectly independent. Otherwise they can never gain 
their freedom. This is a very important social question. 
We discussed it thoroughly with Boleslas Stadnitzki. He 
is a great nature, this Stadnitzki, but he treats these subjects 


too lightly. In fact, he is stupid in regard to them.” 


eae 


one 


remeaune 


005 


eee | 


30 Smoke. 


‘The time will come, when they will all have to render 
an account,” said Goubaref slowly, in a tone that was 
partly magisterial and partly prophetic. 

“Yes, yes,” said Bambaef, ‘‘they will have to render 
auaccount. Stephen Nicolaevitch,” he added in a low 
wzice, ‘is the work progressing?” 

*‘Tam collecting the materials,” returned Goubaref 
with a frown; then turning toward Litvinof, who had 
begun to grow tired of this crowd of unfamiliar names 
and this storm of wordsy he asked: ‘‘ What are you en- 
gaged in now?” 

Litvinof satisfied his curiosity. 

“Ah! natural science. Mm Segue aT ec 6 VEE 
useful as a discipline for the mind, but of no other value! 
We have more important work before us now. Will you 
permit me to ask what your opinions are?” 

** My opinions ?” 

‘* Yes, your political opinions, I mean.” 

Litvinof smiled. 

‘*To tell the truth, I have no particular opinions on the 
subject.” 

At this reply the stout gentleman seated in the 
corner suddenly raised his eyes and looked fixedly at 
Litvinof. 


“How can that be?” asked Goubaref, with an air of 


. 
4 


Smoke. 31 


affected politeness. ‘‘ Have you never thought of the 
subject, or are you tired of it?” 

"TI think that it is almost too early for us Russians to 
have many political opinions, or to imagine that we have 
them. Mind, I do not use the word /olitical in its true 


sense... ....:?? 


*“Ah! yes, you are one of those who do not believe 


themselves ready for the new order of affairs,” said 
Goubaref in the same tone as before; then approaching 
Vorochilof, he asked him if he had read the pamphlet 
which he had lent him. 

To Litvinot’s surprise, Vorochilof had not uttered a 
word since they had first entered the room; he had con- 
tented himself with frowning and looking about in a 
dignified manner (he generally either did all the talking 
or was silent altogether). On being addressed he squared 
his shoulders with a military air, advanced a step and 
nodded his head affirmatively. 

** Well! were you pleased with it?” 

“Yes, so far as concerned his premises, but I could 
not entirely agree with his conclusions.” 

“ Andrew Ivanovitch praised the pamphlet, in speak- 
ing of itto me. You will please state in what particulars 
you differ from it.” 


* Are your orders that this shall be done in writing?” 


Ree CTEEIOIE Ae 


32 Smoke. 


This question seemed greatly to surprise Goubaref; he 
had not expected it; however, after a moment’s refiec- 
tion, he replied: 

‘Yes, in writing, and Ishould also like to have, at the 
same time, your ideas concerning . . . associations.” 

* “Do you require them after the method of Lassale or 
that of Schultze-Delitzsch?” 

“Mmm... in both ways. Please remember, too, 
that the financial part of the question is a very important 


one for us. The workingman’s bank is yet undeveloped. 
We must study and understand this matter thoroughly. 


As regards the portion allotted to the peasants... ” 
‘‘ What is your opinion, Stephen Nicolaevitch, on this 
subject?” asked Vorochilof with respectful delicacy in 


his tone. 


§ 


“Mmm... The Commune!” said Goubaref with 
an increase of gravity in his tone, as biting his beard, he 
directed his lurid and steady gaze upon one of the tables. 
The Commune... you understand, is a great name! 


What do these incendiary fires mean. . . these measures 


_ which the government has taken against Sunday-schools, 


reading-rooms, and newspapers? What does the refusal 
of the peasants to sign the papers which close their rela- 
tions with their former masters mean? What has just 


happened in Poland? Do you not see whither every- 


Smoke. 33 


thing is tending? Do you notsee...mm... that we. 
must now mingle with the people and become acquainted 
with their ideas?” 

Goubaref became excited; his face grew fiery red, and 
his breath came quick and short; his eyes were still cast’ 
down, and he kept biting his beard as he muttered: ‘‘Do 
you notsee...” 

‘*Evseef is a scoundrel!” suddenly cried Madame 
Soukhantchikof, to whom Bambaef had been speaking in 
a low tone, out of consideration for the master of the 
house. Goubaref turned quickly on his heel, and began 
to walk up and down the room. 

New guests began to arrive, and at a late hour the 
room was filled. Among the new comers was the M. 
Evseef, who had been so rudely spoken of by Madame 
Soukhantchikof a few minutes before. She met him 
very cordially, and when the party broke up requested 
him to accompany her home, _ There was also a certain 
Pichtchalkin, a model justice of the peace, one of the 
kind of men that Russia, perhaps, really needs, slightly 
gifted and informed, indeed, but conscientious, patient, 
and just. The peasants of his province lauded him to 
the skies, and he was not wanting in a proper respect for 
himself. | 


There were also present a few officers, who were profit 


34 Smoke. 


ing by a short leave of absence to take a pleasure trip 
through Europe, without, however, forgetting for a mo- 
ment either their colonel or their own advanced grade; 
also two students from Heidelberg, one of whom looked 
about him with a scornful air, while the other laughed 
convulsively, both seeming to be ill at ease. After them 
there glided in a small-sized Frenchman, who had a very 
miserable look; he was in the habit of boasting to his 
comrades, mostly travelling salesmen, that he was attract- 
ing the attention of various Russian countesses; what he 
wanted mainly now was an invitation to supper. Last 
of all appeared a certain Titus Bindasof, apparently a 
rough but good-hearted, convivial fellow, really a cowardly 
bully, friend of Russian merchants and Parisian lorettes; 
bald, toothless, and a drunkard. He entered the room 
flushed and excited, saying that he had left his last cent 
with that rascal ofa Benazet, whereas he had actually 
just won sixteen florins. It was very curious to witness 
the respectful manner with which they all surrounded 
Goubaref: they asked him questions and begged him to 
answer them; to which he responded by a kind of lowing 
sound, a turn of the eye, or a few words without sense or 
connection, which everyone seized upon as an expression . 
of the highest wisdom. He rarely took part in the con- 
versation, but the others did not let it flag. It happened 


Smoke. 35 


more than once that three or four were all talking ex- 
citedly at the same moment; each one was delighted and 
perfectly understood the rest. The party lasted till near 
midnight, and a great number and variety of subjects 
were discussed. Madame Soukhantchikof spoke of 
Garibaldi, of a certain Charles Ivanovitch who was 
flogged by his dependants, of Napoleon III., of the work 
of woman, of Pleskachef the merchant, who starved a 
dozen of his workingwomen, and for so doing was awarded 
a medal with the inscription: ‘‘ For his usefulness to 


society,” of the proletariat, of the Georgian Prince 


Tchinktcheoulidzef, who blew his wife from a cannon’s ~ 
? 


mouth, and of the future of Russia. Pichtchalkin also 
spoke of the future of Russia, of the brandy monopolists, 
of the significance of nationalities, and of his horror of 
platitudes. Suddenly, Vorochilof, being no longer able 
to contain himself, named in one breath at the risk of 
choking, Draper, Firchow, M. Chelgounof, Bichat, 
Helmholtz, Starr, Stur, Reiminth, John Muller the 
physiologist, John Muller the historian, concerning which 
two he evidently was in some confusion, Taine, Renan, 
M. Chtchapof, and then Thomas Nash, Peele, Greene, 
*¢ Who are all these people?” muttered Bambaef, com. 


pletely overcome. 


Fe 


36 Smoke. 


‘** They are the predecessors of Shakespeare; they com 
pare with him as the Alps do with Mont Blanc,” 
replied Vorochilof in a loud tone, and then he also passed 
to the future of Russia. Bambaef, too, thought it his 
duty to expatiate on this subject, and painted this future 
in brilliant colors; Russian music particularly excited 
his enthusiasm ; he found in it something ‘‘ magnificent,” 
and in order to illustrate this, attacked a song composed 
by Varmalof, but was immediately interrupted by the 
general remark that it was the J/iserere from Trovatore, 
that he was singing so abominably. Under cover of the 
confusion, a short officer spoke against the Russian 
Uterature, another recited several satirical verses from 
L’Etincelle, a St. Petersburg paper. Titus Bindasof 
was still more frank: he declared that he would like to 
break the heads of all those knaves. All were smoking, 
and the air of the room had become difficult to breathe: 
all had shouted themselves hoarse, their eyes were blood- 
shot and their faces covered with perspiration. Bottles of 
beer were brought in and emptied in a trice., ‘‘ Where 
__was I?” said one. ‘‘ With whom was I talking?” asked 
another; ‘‘and what was it about?” In the midst of 
this tumult, Goubaref was all the time walking and strok. 
ing his beard: now he listened for an instant to what was 


being said, now he dropped a few words as he was pass- 


Smoke. 37 
ing by; all present felt that he was not only the host, but 
also the great personage of the evening. 

At ten o’clock, Litvinof, who was suffering from fatigue 
and headache, quietly slipped from the room, which was 
now in great confusion. Madame Soukhantchikof had 
just mentioned another outrage attempted by Prince 
Barnaoulof: he had tried to cut off some one’s ear. The 
evening breeze gently fanned his temples and cooled his 
fevered face. ‘‘ What kind of a meeting was that?” he 
thought, as he entered a gloomy path. ‘* Why were 
they so noisy and excited? What do they want to do?” 
He shrugged his shoulders, and entering the Café Weber, 
took up the paper and ordered an ice. The paper was 
full of the Italian question, and the ice seemed execrable. 
He was about starting for his room, when a stranger ap- 
proached and saying in Russian that he hoped he was 
not intruding upon him, took a seat at his table. —_Litvi- 
nof at once recognized him as the gentleman whom he 
had seen earlier in the evening, sitting so quietly in 
Goubaref’s room; the one who had cast so penetrating a 
glance upon him when the conversation turned on his 
political opinions, During the whole evening he had not 
spoken a word, but now, sitting down by Litvinof, ke 
turned upon him a look of kindness mingled with 
timidity. 


CHAPTER..V. 


“*T was not introduced to you at the rooms ot M. Gou- 
baref, where I had the honor to meet you this evening,” 
said he, ‘‘but now, if you will permit me, I wil) introduce 

{ myself. My name is Potoughine; I am a retired officer 
| of the court, having served at St. Petersburg under the 
Secretary of the Treasury. I hope you do not deem it 
Strange . . . Iam notin the habit of making acquaiut- 
ances in this way... but you... ” 

Here Potoughine stopped short, and asked the waiter 
for a small glass of kirchwasser. “To give me cour- 
age,” he added with a smile. 

Litvinof looked attentively at this new acquaintance, 
Savile to himself, as he did so: ‘He is not at all like 
the others.” 3 

He did, indeed, appear very different from any of those 
whom Litvinof had met during this eventful evening, 
He was broad-shouldered and deep-chested and not very 


tall; his hair was in disorder; his eyes looked out from 


Smoke, 39 


under their bushy brows, with an intelligent but some- 
what melancholy expression ; his mouth was well shaped; 
his teeth were bad; his Russian nose resembled a potato 
inits form. His manner was rough and awkward, but he 
seemed far from being a common-place character. He 
was carelessly dressed; his coat hung upon him likea 
sack, and his necktie was twisted out of place. Litvinof, 
though surprised, was pleased with this new acquaint- 
ance. He understood at once that this was not a man 
who made friends at hap-hazard. He made a powerful¢ 
impression on Litvinof; he inspired him simultaneously 
with respect, sympathy, and a kind of involuntary com- 
passion. 

*“T hope I do not intrude upon you,” he repeated, in a 
subdued and somewhat hoarse voice, which corresponded 
well with his general appearance. 

“No, indeed!” replied. Litvinof, ‘‘I am very much 
pleased to meet you.” 

“Thank you ! the acquaintance also gives me pleasure. 
I have often heard you spoken of, and I am acquainted 
with your werk and plans. I need not say that I highly 
approve of them. I was not surprised to see you so quiet 
this evening.” i. 

“T thought that you also talked very little, if at all,” 
responded Litvinof. 


40 Suoke. 


Potoughine sighed. 

‘The others talked too much; I was listening to 
them. Well,” he added after a moment’s silence, as he 
lifted his eyebrows in a comical manner, ‘‘how did you 
like the confusion of tongues at our tower of Babel?” 

**'You may well call it the confusion of tongues! I 
constantly wanted to ask those gentlemen what they 
were making such a clamor about.” 

Potoughine sighed again. 


‘The most ludicious feature of all is that they have so 


much confidence in themselves. Formerly we should 
have spoken of them as the blind instruments of some © 


superior power; in these times we must use severer 


terms. Ido not accuse them of wrong, remember; nay, | 


more, they are all, with very few exceptions, excellent 
people. I have heard, for instance, from good authority, 
reports concerning Madame Soukhantchikof that do her 
great credit. She gave everything she possessed in the 


world to two nieces who were very poor. Even if a de- 


—sire for notoriety did partly influence her, yet, I must 


confess, the act was a noble one. I cannot say a word 
against M. Pichtchalkin; in course of time the peasants 
of his province will certainly present him with a silver 
.cup, of the shape and size of a watermelon, and al- 


though he will reply that he has not merited such an 


S707. 41 


honor, he most certainly will have done so. Your 
friend. M. Bambaef, has a heart of gold; itis true that 
he resembles the poet Iazikof, who, it is said, writes of 
the pleasures of wine and idleness, without leaving his 
-work for a moment, or drinking anything but water. 
Bambaef’s enthusiasm has no definite aim, but he is en- 
thusiastic none the less for that. M. Vorochilof also is 
a worthy gentleman; like all of his school, he considers 
science and civilization as having been appointed his 
aides-de-camp ; he is a great talker, but forgets that he 
is very young. These people are all good enough, but 
the trouble is they amount to nothing; the provisions 


are of the first quality, but you can not swallow a mouth- 


ful of them.” _ 


Litvinof listened to Potoughine with redoubled at- . 


tention. His. easy and confident way of speaking 
showed him to be a master of the art of conversation. 
_He loved to talk and knew how to talk; but, like a man 
who feels that he has outgrown all vanity, he always 
waited until a fit occasion or subject of conversation was 
presented. 

**'Yes, yes,” he continued in that tone, sad without 
bitterness, which was peculiar to him, ‘‘these facts are 
very strange. Here is another point which I will ask 


you to notice. Let ten Englishmen meet together and 


~~ 


42 Smoke. 


they will at once begin to talk about the subniarine tele- 
graph, the revenue, the price of cotton, the possibility 
of tanning ratskins; some subject in fact that is positive 
and definite. Bring ten Germans together and they will 
at once enter naturally upon the Schleswig-Holstein 
question and the unity of Germany. Take ten French- 
men, and no matter how they may try to ace it, they = 
will eventually arrive at a discussion of the fair sex. If 
ten Russians, however, meet together, the conversation 
immediately turns, as you have noticed this evening, 
upon the greatness of Russia and her brilliant future, 
while in tracing her origin they go back to the eggs of 
Leda. They squeeze, and suck upon and chew this un- 
fortunate subject as boys do india-rubber, . . . and with 
| the same result. They can not touch upon it without al- 
luding to the corruption of the West. The West touches 
us on all sides, and how terribly corrupt it is! This 
would not be so bad if we really did despise it; but, no, 
this is all boasting and falsehood. “We cry out against . 
the West and yet cannot live without its approval. I — 
know a middle-aged man, the father of a family, who 
was driven almost to despair because, being once in a 
restaurant in Paris, he asked for a piece of beefsteak 
with some potatoes, while a real Frenchman who sat 


near him cried out: Waiter, steak and potatoes! My 


Smoke. 43° 


friend was covered with shame and immediately re- 
peated: Steak and potatoes! and always afterward 
told his friends that this was the proper mode of expres- 
sion.” 

** Please tell me,’’said Litvinof, ‘‘ to what you attribute 
the undeniable influence that Goubaref exerts over those 
about him? To his talents or to his acquirements ?” 

‘“ No, he possesses neither the one nor the other.” 

““Ts it owing to his character, then?” 

“‘No, he has no character, either; he has great force 
of will, however, and we Slaves, asa general rule, have 
but little of it. M. Goubaref has taken it into his head 
to become the head of the party, and has accomplished 
it. This is owing to our nature. The government has 
delivered us from slavery; but the customs of slavery have 
become so impressed upon us that we cannot throw them 
off at once. In all things and everywhere, we need a 


master. Generally this master is a living being; some- 


times it is a peculiar tendency, as, for instance, the mania | 


for the natural sciences at the present time. Why is 
this? What causes lead us thus voluntarily to subject 
ourselves? It is inexplicable, but nevertheless it is true. 


The most important fact with us is, that we must have a 


master. Weare the true serfs. We are slaves in out” 


pride, as well as in our abasement. As soon as a new 


> a aeecsntneceanssine 


oe 


5 


44 | Smoke. 

| _master appears, we leave the old one. To-day it is 
James, to-morrow Thomas. Quick, make a bow to James, 
an obeisance to Thomas. We boast of being masters of 
our opinions, but instead of holding our own, like men, 
with the sword, we can only strike like servants with the 
fist, and that only as the master gives his permission. 
Moreover, we are a susceptible people; it is easy to in- 
fluence us. This is the reason why M. Goubaref has 
reached the top of the ladder. He has always struck at 
the same spot, and has finally succeeded in piercing it. 
A man who has a good opinion of himself, who has great 
self-confidence, who gives commands, is the one who is 
wanted: he must be right, and must be listened to. All 
our parties are begun thus. The first who seizes the 
sceptre retains it.” 

The color gradually deepened in Potoughine’s cheeks, 
and his eyes became more and more bright and expres- | 
sive; harsh as his words might seem, however, there was 
no trace of vindictive feeling in them, but simply an ex- 
pression of true and sincere sadness. 

‘* How did you make Goubaref’s acquaintance?” asked > 
Litvinof. 3 

‘‘T have known him for along time. Your question 
reminds me of another of our peculiarities. Here is a 


writer, who has devoted his life to a warfare in prose and 


Smoke. 45 


verse against drunkenness and the brandy manufacture ; 
suddenly, one fine day, he buys a couple of distilleries, 
and supplies a hundred bar-rooms. Anywhere else in 
the world he would be driven from society; here, not a 
reproach is heard. M. Goubaref’s case is a similar one: 
he is a lover of the Slavic race, a democrat, a socialist, 
and everything of that kind, while his property was, and 
still is, managed by his brother, a noble of the old stamp. 
And here is Madame Soukhantchikof, who glories in the 
fact that Mrs. Beecher Stowe slapped Tenteleef, almost 
prostrating herself before Goubaref, whose whole merit 
consists in pretending that he has read profound works, 
and that he appreciates all their wisdom. You could 
form an opinion yourself this evening, as to what his con- 
_ versational powers really are. It was fortunate that he 
did no more than mutter, for when he is in good humor, 
he tells villainous, little, cynical stories. It is all I can do 
to keep my patience when our great Goubaref is thus en- 
gaged.” 

**I do not think you seem like a very patient person,” 
said Litvinof, ‘But allow me to inquire your given 
name.” : 

Potoughine drank a little £7rschwasser. 

“My name is Sozonthe Ivanovitch. This delightful 


name was given me after one of my relations, an abbot 


eal 


Se 


46 Smoke 


-— 


to whom, however, I owe nothing else. I am, if I may 
So say, of a priestly race. . As regards my patience, you 
do wrong to doubt it; I have served for twenty-two years’ 
under my uncle, the Secretary of State, Irinarche 
Potoughine. Did you ever know him?” 
Pano. if 
*““I must congratulate you on it. Yes, I am very 
| patient. But let us return to our first point, as my re- 
spectable brother, the high priest Avvakoum, who was 
burned under the Czar Theodore, used to say. I can 
take back nothing, sir, of what I have said, concerning 
our countrymen. hey are constantly complaining and 
going about with long faces, and yet are always full of 
hope. Look at these lovers of the Slavic’race, of whom 


M. Goubaref is one: they are very worthy people, but 
__.you always find in them this strange mixture of despair 


and confidence, and they live only in the werd ‘ future.’ 
chevy hope for all things, but nothing comes to them, 
and during ten whole centuries, Russia has originated 
nothing in government, the arts and sciences, or even in 
manufactures. But you must be patient, it is all coming 
|_in the future. If I ask how it will come, I am answered: 
That we, who are civilized, are good for nothing, while 


the people . . . oh! the people are great. It will come 


Smoke 47 
thi ough the armiak.* All other idols are destroyed, we 
must trust in the armiak. But suppose the armiak does 
not prove equal to your hopes? It surely will; read 
Madame Kokhanofska and you will no longer doubt! If 
I were an artist, I would draw the following picture: a 
civilized man standing before a peasant, bowing low and 
saying: ‘Cure me, my friend, I am sick unto death; ” 
the peasant, on the other hand, humbly bowing to the 
man of civilization, and saying: “ Instruct me, my lord, 
I am perishing for want of light.” Neither of them, of 
course, budges an inch. N ow, what is necessary, is to 
have true resignation and humility, not merely the words 
for them; we must frankly and fairly borrow what our 
older brothers have invented long before us. Kellner, 
noch ein Glasschen Kirsch! VUhope you will not think 
me intemperate, but the liquor seems to loosen my 
tongue.” 


“* After what you have said,” remarked Litvinof with a 


smile, ‘I do not need to ask to what party you belong, 


or what your opinion is of Europe.” 
Potoughine threw back his head. 
**T admire, and feel extremely indebted to Europe, and 


do not think it necessary to conceal my opimions. Fora 


long time... no, for a short time only, I have not been - 


® The principal garment of the serfs. 


48 Smoke. 


afraid to express my convictions, just as I saw yot did 
not hesitate to make yours known to M. Goubaref. 1 
have ceased, thank Heaven, trying to assimilate my 
opinions with those of the person with whom I am talk- 
ing. In fact, I know of nothing worse than this useless 
pusilianimity, this cowardly complaisance, which makes 
the statesman cringe before the first student that he 
meets, though he really despises him with all his heart. 
He is thus deceitful from his desire to be popular, but we 
ordinary mortals do not need to take ‘this course. Yes, 
I love Europe, or to speak more exactly, I love civiliza- 
tion, that civilization which is so much despised by us; 1 
love it and trust it, and will have no other love, no other 
faith. This one word civ-il-i-za-tion is perfect, immacu- 
late and sacred, while all others of the kind, nationality, 
glory—are soiled with the stain of blood.” 

‘‘Do you love Russia, your country, Sozonthe Ivano- 
vitch?” | 

‘<I love it passionately . . . and I too hate it.” 

Litvinof shrugged his shoulders. 

‘- That is trite and commonplace,” he answered. 

‘Indeed! Does that trouble you? Commonplace! 
I know many excellent commonplaces. ‘Order and 
liberty,’ there is an immortal commonplace for you. 1 


do you prefer to have, as we. do, ‘Anarchy and Hier 
: 1g 


Smoke. 49 


archy?’ Then we have all those phrases which so tickle 
the youthful fancy, the contemptible burgher class, the 
sovereignty of the people, the rights of labor. As re- 
gards love and hate... ” 

‘‘Byronism,” said Litvinof, ‘‘the romanticism of 
1830!” 

‘** You are mistaken; the first one to call attention to 
this mingling of opposed feelings, was the Roman poet 
Catullus, who flourished some two thousand years 
ago.* 

I borrowed from him, for I know a little Latin, in con- 
sequence, if I may so speak, of my priestly origin. Yes, 
I adore and abhor Russia, my great, wonderful, hateful 
and yet cherished country. I have just left it, for I feel 
the need of a little rest after twelve years passed con- 
stantly at the desk; I have left Russia and find it very 
pleasant where I am; but I shall soon return again, I 
know. A civilized land is pleasant, but a wild nature does 
not prosper in it.” | 

““You say you find it pleasant here: it seems so too, 
to me,” said Litvinof. ‘‘I came here to learn, but that 
does not prevent me from observing some sad things. . .” 


As he spoke thus, he pointed out two lorettes, with whon, 


* Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. - 
Wescio: sed fieri sentio et excrucior. Catull., LXXXVI, 





5c Smoke. 


two members of the Jockey Club were whispering, and 
also the gambling hall, which was still crowded, notwith- 
standing the lateness of the hour. 

** What! I hope you do not think that-I am blind to 
this,” quickly answered Potoughine. ‘‘ Only, if you 
will pardon me, I must say that your remark reminds me 
of the triumphant tirades of our unfortunate journal- 
ists, during the Crimean war, over the numerous. blund- 
ers in the management of the English army, as de- 
nounced by the Zzmes. I am not an optimist; the 
whole of life, this comedy with a tragic ending, does not 
appear to me rose-colored; but why hold the West alone 
responsible for what is after all, perhaps, a common 
weakness? This gambling-hall is disgusting, it is true, 
but are our Greeks, our native thieves, much better? 
No, my dear Gregory Mikhailovitch, let us be more 
humble and less severe. A good pupil can recognize his 
master’s faults, but he is respectfully silent concerning 
them, for these very faults are useful to him and teach 
him a salutary lesson. If you still persist in holding up 
to view the corruption of the West, look at Prince Coco, 
who is just now passing over there so rapidly; he has 
probably just wasted at the gambling table the rent 
which a hundred poor families have collected by hard 


labor; his nerves are now pleasantly excited. Isaw him 


ee ae ee, ee 


aa oe ee 


Smoke. 5t 


this rnorning at Marx’s, looking ove: a pamphlet by Veu- 
etree. .) 216 isa delightful spéaker.” 

‘“Excuse me,” said Litvinof hurriedly, seeing Potou- 
ghine rise, ‘but I am very slightly acquainted with 
Prince Coco, and much. prefer to Hear you tak... e277 

“‘T am greatly obliged to you,” replied Potoughine 
with a bow; ‘but I have been talking a long time with 
you, or rather have been talking by myself, and, as you 
have perhaps noticed, a man is sometimes a little ashamed 
of his eloquence when it elicits no reply. I think this is 
enough for our first meeting. Good evening. I must 
say again that I am very glad to have made your ac- 
juaintance.” 

‘‘ But wait a moment, Sozonthe Ivanovitch ; I do not 
yet know where you are stopping, nor how long you in- 
tend to stay here.” 

Potoughine replied with visible embarrassment: ‘I 
expect to remain a week at Baden; we will meet at 
Weber’s or at Marx’s...or I can call on you if you 
wish.” 

—*‘T shall be glad to have you do so, but should also like 
your address.” 

‘Yes; but there are reasons . . e I have some one 
with me.” 


‘*What! are you married?” 


52 Smoke 


“Of course not. How can vou ask so absurd a ques 
tion? No... I havea young girl with me.” 

“Oh!” said Litvinof, ‘‘ excuse me.” 

‘‘ She is only six years old,” added Potoughine. She 
is an 2 ape debi? Gta ladywt-. one “or amy 
dearest friends. We had better meet each other here. 
Good night.” 

So saying, he threw on his hat, and walked hurriedly 
away, toward the Alle Lichtenthal. 

“¢An odd person,” thought Litvinof, as he turned to- 
ward his hotel, ‘I must find him again.” 

On entering his room he saw a letter on the table. 
“It is from Tania,” he cried joyfully ; but his guess was 
wrong, for it proved to be from his father in the country. 
Litvinof broke the thick seal, and had already opened 
the letter, when he suddenly became conscious of a very 
penetrating and pleasant perfume, which seemed familiar 
_ to him; he turned quickly round, and saw in a glass 
upon the window-sill, a bouquet of heliotropes. He 
walked up to it, touched it, smelt it. It recalled to his 
mind some vague and pleasant impression of the past 
. . . but what was it? he could not tell. He rang for 
the waiter, and asked who brought the flowers there. 
The waiter answered that they had been left by a lady, 


who had refused to give her name, saying that “ers 


Smoke. 53 


Zluttenhof would know by the flowers themselves, whence 
they came. -Again the vague idea floated in his mind, ~ 
feeeee etic asked the waiter to describe the lady. . She 
was tall, elegantly dressed, and wore a short veil. | 

‘“She must have been a Russian countess,” he added. 

“Why do you think so?” 

** Because she gave me two florins.” 

Litvinof dismissed him, and stood for a long time be- 
fore the window, absorbed in thought. Finals making 
an impatient gesture as though he could not solve the 
difficulty, he again took up his father’s letter. It con- 
tained the usual complaints; assured him that his wheat 
would not bring any price; that the peasants would no 
longer obey him, and that the end of the world was un- 
doubtedly near at hand. ‘‘ Just think,” said he, ‘‘among 
other troubles, my coachman has been bewitched. He 
would certainly have died, if I had not followed the ad- 
vice of some good people, and sent him to a priest, at 
Rezin, celebrated for his remedies against witchcraft. 
He has entirely cured him, as you will see by reading the 
enclosed paper.” Litvinof looked through this document 
with much curiosity. It ran thus: - 

‘‘Nicanor Dmitrief was attacked by a disease which 
medicine could not cure; some evil disposed persons had 


bewitched him, for reasons which he himself has given 


54 Sm0he. 


me; he had made and broken a promise of marriage to 
a young girl, who had thereupon besought certain per- 
sons to bewitch him, and if I had not come to his assist- 
ance, he would certainly have perished; but happily 
trusting in God, I succeeded in saving him. I know not 
how this was done; it is a mystery. I however beseech 
your Highness to forbid this young woman from repeat- 
ing her attempt; otherwise Nicanor may again suffer 
from her malice.” 

Litvinof pondered long over. this letter, which recalled 
to his mind so strongly the dreary solitude of the steppes, 
and the dull and lonely life which is led upon them, and 
Baden seemed to his mind the very place where such a 
letter should be read, in order to appreciate its full 
power. 

It was now long past midnight, and Litvinof retired to 
bed, but not to sleep; all the faces he had seen, and the 
discussions he had heard, seemed to go and come before 
his bewildered mind. Now, he heard the lowing sound 
of Goubaref’s voice, and saw his fierce eyes. fixed upon 
him; now the eyes changed their expression, and Ma. 
dame Soukhantchikof seemed staring at him, while her 
sharp voice kept repeating: ‘‘She slapped him, she 
slapped him in the face!” then he saw the striking fea- 


tures of Potoughine, and heard his words of wit and wis. 


Smoke. 55 


dom ; then Vorochilof sprang up suddenly, like a jack- 
in-a-box, before him; then Pichtchalkin gravely shook 
his head, and Bindasof talked loud and swore; and then 
appeared Bambaef melted into tears . . . and through | 
all these changing visions, stole this sweet, heavy, peculiar 
odor, which would not let him sleep, and which constant- 
ly brought before him that something which he could not 
recall. . . . He remembered he had heard that it was 
hurtful to sleep in a room where flowers were, and groped 
through the darkness to the bouquet, and placed it in 
the next room; but still the heavy perfume reached his 
pillow, even gliding through the sheets which he wrap- 
ped about his head, and causing him to toss restlessly 
from side to side. He became at last a prey to violent 
’ delirium ; already the priest, ‘‘ celebrated for his reme- 
dies against witchcraft,” had twice appeared before him, 
in the form of an immense hare with a long beard and 
stubby tail, and Vorochilof, changed to a nightingale, 
had perched near him on a gorgeous military plume, » 
sounding his tuneful notes, when suddenly springing up 
in bed, and striking his hands together, he cried aloud: 
*“Can she have left it? it is impossible!” 

But in order to explain this cry of Litvinof, we must 
ask the reader to go back with us, and review some of the 


events of a few preceding years. 


CLAD EER vas 


In 1850, there lived at Moscow, in an almost destit1a 
condition, the numerous family of the Princes Usinine. 
They were not Tartars nor Georgians, but true Russian . 
princes, descended from Rurik, by the direct and legiti- 
mate male line. -Their name is frequently met with in 
our history, in the times of the first great princes of Mos- 
cow. They had owned vast possessions, had more than 
once had lands bestowed upon them as a reward of valor, 
_ and had sat in the councils of the Bojars; but having 
been maliciously accused of sorcery, they fell into dis- 
grace, were mercilessly ruined, deprived of all their titles 
and honors, exiled, and the house of Osinine once over- 
thrown, nothing could ever again restore it to its former 
glory. In course of time its confiscated estates and fam-— 
ily possessions at Moscow were returned to it, but impov- 
erished and worn out, it was unable to uplift itself either 
under Peter I. or Catherine II., and constantly losing 


ground, already counted among its members family stew: 


Smoke. 57 
ards, revenue detectives and police officers. The family 
with which we have to deal, was composed of father, mo- 
ther and five children. They lived in a small frame house 
of one story, having steps in front painted in two colors, 


ornamented with green lions over the dopr, and display- 


ing other evidences of a gentleman's taste. It was with | 


great difficulty, however, that they were able each year 
to make both ends meet, even when they bought on 
credit of the grocer, and passed the whole winter without 
light or fire. The prince was of a feeble and shallow na- 
ture; in his youth he had been a dandy an leader of 
fashion; now he was completely sae up. Less out of 
consideration for his name, than through regard for his 
wife, who had formerly been a maid of honor at the court, 
he had been provided with a sinecure. He took no part, 
however, either in politics or business, but passed his 


time, wrapped in a dressing-gown, smoking and sighing. 


=k 


The princess was a sad and sickly woman, entirely devo- 


ted to the care of her household, the placing of her chil- 


dren in government institutions, and the preserving of 
her relations with her St. Petersburg friends. She had 
never become reconciled to her position, and her separa- 
tion from the court. Litvinof’s father had become ac- 
quainted with this family when he lived in Moscow, had 


shown them some kindness, and once had lent them 


58 Smoke. 


three hundred roubles. His son, when a student, living 
near, visited them very often; not, however, on account 
of their being neighbors, nor because of the comforts and 
allurements of their home. The truth was, he had fallen 
in love with their oldest daughter, Irene. 

Irene had arrived at the age of seventeen, and had just 7 
left the Institute where she had been studying, on account 
of a quarrel between her mother and the lady principal. 
Irene had been selected to recite at a public entertain- 
ment, a French poem complimentary to the commissioner 
of education, when, at.the last moment, another young 
lady, daughter of a wealthy brandy merchant, had been 
chosen in her place. The princess could not brook the 
insult, and Irene, herself, was not able to pardon this 
display of partiality. She had, for a long time, thought 
how she would rise, and all eyes being fixed upon her, 
would recite her poem, and how all Moscow would then 
talk of her success. In fact, Irene would probably have 
made a great sensation. She was tall and well formed, 
though somewhat narrow chested; her complexion was 
clear as porcelain and her cheeks were tinged with a rosy | 
flush, such as is rarely seen at her age; her thick tresses 
were of a golden hue, shading into brown; and her beau. 
tiful and regular features had not yet lost that expression 


of childish innocence which belongs to early youth ‘The 


Smoke. 59 


careless bend of her handsome neck, and her lauguishing 
and somewhat abstracted smile, indicated a nervous tem- 
_ perament, while her thin lips, and well proportioned aqui- 
ine nose, betrayed will and passion, a something which 
might prove dangerous to others, and to herself as well. 
Her deep gray eyes, veiled beneath lashes as long and 
shining as those of an Egyptian goddess, and arched by 
high and delicately penciled brows, were truly fascinating. 
These eyes had a strange and mysterious expression ; 
they seemed to gaze into the far distance, with a fixed 
and wistful look. ‘At the Institute, Irene was looked upon 
as a student of great ability, but of a wayward and wilful 
disposition. One of her teachers warned her that she 
would be ruined by her passions, while another reproached 
her for her icy coldness, and spoke of her as a heartless 
girl Her comrades thought her proud.and haughty, 
her brothers and sisters feared her; her mother had na 
confidence in her, and her father always felt ill at ease 
when she fixed upon him her mysterious gaze. Notwith-’ 
standing, she inspired her parents with an involuntary 
feeling of respect, not on account of her abilities, but 
from some undefined hope in the future which she had 
awakened in their breasts. 

**You will find Prascovie Danilovna,” once said the 


old prince, dropping for a moment his pipe, ‘You will 


60 Smoke. 


find that Irinka will some day draw us from the mire.” 

The princess was angry for a moment, and told her 
husband that he used ‘‘ very low expressions,” but soon 
talking to herself, she muttered: ‘‘Yes . . . it would be 
pleasant to be drawn from the mire.” 

Irene enjoyed almost unlimited freedom in her father’s 
house; she was not spoiled, but rather avoided, and no 
one thought of troubling her with work. This was ex-. 
actly what she desired. Sometimes when a very humili- 
ating scene took place, when some merchant came, say- 
ing that he was tired of trying to collect his bill, and that | 
he should now proceed to make trouble for them, Irene 
would sit quietly in her place without even a frown, but 
a sneering smile would pass over her face, which to her 
parents was more bitter than any reproach. They felt 
guilty, helplessly guilty before this girl, who seemed born 
to wealth, luxury and position. 

Litvinof fell in love with Irene at first sight (he was 
only three years her senior). Fora long time, however, 
he could not gain her sympathy, nor even attract her 
attention. She acted as though he had .offended her, 3 
and she could not make up her mind to pardon the af- 
front. He was then too young and inexperienced to un- © 
derstand what feelings this apparent anger and haughty 


coldness might conceal. Often forgetting his lessons. 


Smoke. 6 


and his books, he would sit by the hour in the shabby 
drawing-room of Prince Osinine, casting side glances at 
Irene, his heart filled with a dull and heavy sadness, while 
she, as though tired and provoked, would rise and walk 
the room, shrugging her shoulders, folding her arms, and 
now and then looking carelessly at him as though he 
were a table or acchair. If, during the evening, she hap- 
pened to speak to Litvinof, she would not look at him; 
and finally, taking up a book, and fixing her eyes upon 
it, she would frown and bite her lips; then, suddenly 
looking up, would ask her father, or her brother, what 
was the German word for... patience. Litvinof en- 
deavored to tear himself from the enchantment of this 
circle, in which he vainly struggled, like a bird taken in 
anet. He left Moscow for a week. The result was, that 
becoming almost crazed with sorrow and despair, he re- 
turned again, pale and wan, to the Osinine’s house. By 
a strange coincidence, Irene had grown thin during his 
absence; her complexion had lost its clearness, and her 
cheeks looked hollow. She received him, however, with 
an increase-of coldness, as though she took a malicious 
pleasure in making him believe that he had now increased 
the mysterious wrong by which he had offended her. 
She thus tormented him for two months, when suddenly 


everything was changed; her love was kindled into a 


67°~ . | Sri0ke. 


bright flame and seemed to melt down everything before 
it. One day—a day that he will never forget—he was 
seated by a window in the drawing-room, looking ab- 
sently into the street; his heart was sad; he despised 
himself and yet was not able to leave the place. Ifa 
river had been running beneath the window, he could 
have plunged headlong into it, with horror, but without 
resret. Irene sat,a little distance from him, motionless 
and silent. For several days she had not spoken a word 
either to him or any one else about her; she sat quietly, 
her arms folded, wholly indifferent to everything going 
on in the house, and looking about her with her strange 
gaze. This torture at last became unbearable; Litvinof 
rose, and without any formal leave-taking, took up his 
hat. ‘‘Stay,” suddenly said Irene in a gentle voice. 
Litvinof trembled; he did not, at first, recognize her 
voice: it had changed its tone in vttering that single 
word. He raised his head and stood speechless. Irene 
cast upon him a kind glance. ‘‘ Stay,” she said again, 
“do not go away. I wish to talk with you.” Then, in 
a still lower tone, she added: ‘‘Please stay, for my 
sake.” Not understanding her, not knowing what he 
did, he walked toward her, holding out his hand; witha 
smile, she took it in both hers, then suddenly rose, and 


still smiling on him, left the room. In a few minutes she 


LS 


Smoke. 63 


returned with her younger sister, again cast a /ingering 
glance upon him, and made him sit down at her side. 
At first she did not speak, but simply sighed, while a 
deep blush suffused her face; at last, taking courage, 
she questioned him about his studies, a token of interest 


which she had never exhibited before. In the evening, 


she several times asked him to forgive her previous cold- ~ 


ness, assured him that her feelings had entirely changed, 
surprised him by republican speeches (at this time he 
revered Robespierre and dared not altogether condemn 


Marat), and before the week had passed, he knew that 


ont 


he was loved. No, he will never forget that first day, nor . 


those few days that followed, when still doubting and 
trembling lest this happiness might yet prove unreal, he 
saw her love grow and strengthen day by day. Then 
came those fleeting and ecstatic moments of first love 
which never can and never should return in all the re- 
maining years of life. Irene suddenly manifested a gentle 
and yielding disposition, and an almost perfect evenness 
of temper. She began to give her younger sisters les- 
sons, not on the piano—she was no musician—but in 
French and English. She read with them, helped with 
the housework, and was interested and amused with 
everything about her. Sometimes she chatted like a 


little magpie, sometimes was buried in deep meditation. 


64 . Smoke. 


She laid a thousand plans as to what she would do when 
she married Litvinof (they never entertained the least 
doubt of the accomplishment of this fact). ‘‘ We will 
work together,” whispered Litvinof to her. ‘* Yes, we 
will work,” she answered, ‘‘and we will read... but 
better than all, we will travel.” She wished above all 
else, to leave Moscow as soon as possible, and when Lit 
vinof remarked that he had not yet finished his course 
at the University, she replied after thinking a moment, 
that he could finish it at Berlin... . or some other 
place. Irene took no pains to conceal her attachment 
for Litvinof, so that it soon became known to the prince 
and princess. ‘They were not particularly delighted by 
it, but considering the circumstances, they did not con- 
sider it necessary to, at once, oppose it. Litvinof had 
some property. ‘‘ But the family, the family!” said the 
princess, Ss Drue;ireplied*the prince, **but the family 
is not a vulgar one, and you know Irene will not listen to 
us. Did she ever do what we wished her to? You know 
how headstrong she is. Besides they are not formally 
engaged.” | 

So argued the prince, but mentally he addcd, ‘‘ Only 
Madame Litvinof! I expected something better than 
that.” 7 


Irene had obtained a complete ascendency over Lit 


Smoke. 65 


vinof, without the least opposition on his part, it must be 

confessed. An unknown current drifted him on, without 

his knowing or caring whither it carried him. What are 

the duties of married life? Could he be a good husband- 
- to Irene, while so entirely subject to her will? What ele- 

ments of happiness did her character offer him? These 

were questions which he could not dwell upon one mo- 

ment. His blood was like fire in his veins. He cared for 

but one thing—to be near her, with her, now and always. 

Beyond this nothing was real to him. 

In course of time, however, notwithstanding the devo-~ 
tion of Litvinof and the passionate tenderness of Irene, 
little misunderstandings arose, and petty quarrels oc- 
curred. Once he ran over directly from the University 
in an old coat and with inky hands. She hurried forward 
as usual to meet him, but stopped suddenly. 

‘You have no gloves on,” said she, emphasizing each 
word. ‘‘Fie! how shabby you do look!” 

*¢ You are too particular,” answered Litvinof. 

‘You are very shabby,” she repeated. ‘‘ You are not 
neat.” | 

And turning on her heel, she left the room. It is true 
that, an hour afterward, she implored his forgiveness. She 
was usually willing to acknowledge her wrong doings, © 


only she often accused herself of imaginary faults, and 


66 Smoke. 


stoutly contested those that she really had. Once he 
found her in tears, her face hidden in her hands, her hair 
falling on her shoulders. He sprang impetuously toward 
her, asking the cause of her sorrow. She answered by 
pointing toward her breast. Litvinof eenpicd! She is | 
consumptive, was his thought. 

‘‘ Are you sick?” he asked with a trembling voice. 
“*T will run for the doctor... .” 

Irene did not let him finish, but impatiently stamped 
her foot. 

‘‘T am not sick at all,” she said. ‘‘ But this dress. . . 
do you understand ?” 

crits tess Gia.-4 401 dO NOL SCC = mwedey 

“ow stupid! Do you not see that it is old and ugly,, 
and that I have to wear it every day, even when you are 
here? ... It will all end in your not loving me.” . 

‘‘Why, Irene, how can you talk so? This dress is 
charming. It is the more dear to me because you wore 
it the first time I saw you.” 

Irene colored with vexation. 

“Do not remind me again, I beg of you, Gregory 
Mikhailovitch, that I have had this dress as long as 
that.” 

‘But I assure you, Irene Pavlovna, that the dress looks 


well on you.” 


Smoke. 67 


No, it does not! It is frightful and horrid,” she 
cried, nervously pulling her long and silky tresses. ‘Oh, 
how poor and miserable we are! Cannot something be 
done to help us ?” 

Litvinof knew not how to answer her, and was moving 
siowly away, when suddenly {rene sprang from her chair, 
placed both her hands upon his shoulders, and, looking 
up into his face with eyes sparkling with happiness, 
though still wet with tears, said: 

**But you love me, darling, do you not, even in this 
ugly dress?” 

Litvinof\ fell at her feet. 

‘*Ah!” she murmered, ‘‘ only love me, love me, dar- 
ling!” 

And so the days and weeks sped swiftly by. There 
was no formal engagement made, Litvinof having yielded 
to Irene’s desire that it should be delayed a little, be- 
cause, as she said, they were both so young. Their fu- 
ture union, however, seemed assured, when an event 
happened by which all their plans were dissipated, as the 
dust is scattered before the wind. 


CHAPTER’ VII. 


The Court visited Moscow during this winter, the 
events of which we are relating. There was one constant 
round of gayety and pleasure, closing with the usual 
grand ball of the nobility. The announcement of this 
ball was carried by a sheet of the Police Gazette, even to 
the little house of the Osinine family. The prince was 
_ the first to act upon it; he at once declared that they | 
must attend the ball and take Irene, that it would be un- 
pardonable to allow such an opportunity of meeting the 
Court to escape them, and that it was their duty to be 
present as members of the old nobility. He insisted on 
this with a warmth which was very unusual in him. The 
princess in the main agreed with him, being troubled only 
by the thought of the expense; but Irene positively op- 
posed the plan. ‘‘ There is no use in talking, I will not 
go,”’ was her reply to all the arguments of her parents. 
Her obstinacy was so great that the old prince determined 


to ask Litvinof to try to persuade her, to make her un- 


Smoke. 69 


derstand, among other ‘‘ reasons,” that it was not proper 
for a young lady to shun society, that now she did not go 
out at all, and it was her duty to make this first trial. 
Litvinof undertook to explain these ‘‘ reasons” to her. 
On making them known, Irene looked at him steadily 
until he dropped his eyes; then, toying with the ends of 
her sash, she quietly asked: ‘‘ Are you the one who 
wishes this?” ‘‘ Yes, I suppose so,” stammered Litvinof. 
**T agree with your father. . . . Why should you not 
go to see the world, and be seen?” he added with an in- 
genuous smile. 

‘To be seen,” she repeated slowly. ‘‘ Very well, I 
will go; only do not forget that you requested it.” 

Bawes. put] 2 

She quickly interrupted him: ‘ Yes, you requested it. 





And now you must promise we that you will not go to 
the ball.” 

“Why?” 

‘* Because I wish it.” 

Litvinof unwillingly made a sign of assent. 

‘*T promise,’. . . but I must confess that it would be 
very pleasant for me to see you in your fine array, and to 
witness the sensation you will surely make.” ‘ How 
proud I should be of you!” he added with a sigh. 


Irene smiled. 


79° Smoke. 


‘All the fine array will be a white dress, and as ree 
gards the sensation . . . Well it makes no difference, I 
do not wish you to go.” 

“‘Trene, are you angry with me?” 

She smiled again. 

‘No I am not angry, only you. . .” And she fas- 
tened her eyes upon him with what seemed to him a new 
and strange expression. 

**It must be fate,” she added in a low tone. 

‘But, Irene, you love me?” 

“‘T love you,” she answered in a solemn tone, at the. 
‘same time strongly pressing his hand. ‘ 

The few following days were devoted entirely to pre- 
paring for the great event; on the evening of the day 
before the ball, Irene was ill at ease; she could not re- 
main quiet a moment and twice stole away and cried. 
Before Litvinof she always wore the same constrained 
smile; otherwise she was kind to him as usual, but ab- 
sent-minded and often looking in the glass. On the day 
_ of the ball, she was pale and calm. At nine in the even- 
ing Litvinof called to see her. When she entered the 
drawing-room, robed in white tarletan, with a wreath of 
delicate blue flowers in her hair, he could not suppress 
an exclamation of surprise, so beautiful and queenly did 


she appear to him. 


Sriake, 71 


** She has grown stately since morning,” thought he, 
*fand what perfect grace! This comes from her noble 
blood.” 

Irene stood before him, seemingly unconscious of his 
admiration, having her eyes fixed, not upon him, but on 
something in the far distance, straight before her. 

“You look like a fairy queen, or rather like a general 
Detore battle and victory,” said Litvinof. . . . ‘*You 
will not allow me to go to the ball,” continued he while 
she still stood motionless, seeming to be listening to a 
voice from within rather than to his words. . . ‘* But 
you will not refuse these flowers which I have brought 
you?” 

So saying, he presented her a bouquet of heliotropes. 

She cast a quick glance on Litvinof, raised her hand 
and seizing the flowers wreathed in her fair hair, said: 

*¢ Shall 1? only say the word, and I will tear this off, 
and remain at home.” 

Litvinof’s heart beat quickly; Irene had already begun 
to detach the wreath. 

““No, no, why should you? ” he cried, hurriedly. ‘1 
am not selfish, and would not keep you, when I know 
Miateyourheart.....” . 

‘Then do not touch me—you will wrinkle my dress,” 


she cried, stepping quickly backward. 


72 Smoke, 


Litvinof was confused and troubled. ‘You will take 
my bouquet ?” he asked. 

‘Certainly; itis beautiful, and I dearly love the per- 
fume of these flowers. Thank you! I will keep it asa 
MISINENOy (ii. ! 

‘‘Of your first ball and your first triumph.” 

Irene stood on tiptoe and looked into the glass over 
Litvinof’s shoulder. ‘‘Am I truly so beautiful? Are 
- you not flattering me ?” said she. 

Litvinof at once began to pour forth her praises, but. 
Irene was no longer listening. Holding the bouquet, 
against her face, she was again looking int6 the far dis- 
tance with those strange eyes, which seemed to expand 
and fill with shadows as she gazed. 

The prince now appeared, wearing a well-worn black 
coat and a white cravat, with the medal of his rank fas- 
tened in his button-hole by a ribbon of St. Vladimir; 
behind him was the princess, in a dress of Chinese silk, 
cut inthe fashion of the olden time. With that officious 
anxiety which mothers sometimes affect in order to con- 
ceal their feelings, she began to arrange her daughter’s 
dress, without, however, at all improving its appear- 
ance. 

The wheels of a hired carriage, drawn by two rough- 


coated old hacks, were now heard grinding on the snow 


Sm0ke. 73 


before the door. A very small footman, who was almost 
swallowed up in an ill-assorted livery, ran in from the 
hall, and in a desperate tone announced that the carriage 
was ready. After giving their blessing to the children 
who remained at home, the prince and princess, wrapt 
in their cloaks, went out upon the steps; Irene silently 
followed them, half covered by an ugly little cloak, which 
she detested. While escorting her to the carriage, Litvi- 
nof hoped, at least, to receive a glance from her; but 
she got in and took her seat without condescending to 
even turn her head. 

Toward midnight Litvinof passed beneath the windows 
of the ball-room. The red curtains were closely drawn, 
but the shining of innumerable candles flooded the whole 
square with light, while afar off he could hear the joyous 
strains of the Strauss waltzes. 

The next day, at one o’clock, Litvinof called as usual 
at the house. He found no one in except the prince, . 
who told him that Irene had a bad headache, and would 
not probably get up before evening, adding that this was 
not to be wondered at, after her first ball. 

“It is a very common thing with young ladies, you 
know,” he continued in French, to the surprise of Lit- 
vinof, who now noticed for the first time that the prince 


did not have on his dressing -gown as usual, but his coat 


74 Smoke. 


‘It is the more natural too that she should be sick, after 
the occurrences of last night.” 

** What occurrences ?” 

““Oh! great events, I can tell you. You cannot ima- 
gine, Gregory Mikhailovitch, what a triumph she had. 
The whole court noticed her. Prince Alexander Feodo- 
rovitch said that Moscow was no place for her, and that 
she reminded him of the Countess of Devonshire, so cele- 
bratedy you know! The old Count Blasenkrampf openly 
declared that Irene was queen of the ball, and requested 
to be presented to her; he was also presented to me— 
that is, he said he remembered having met me when a 
hussar, and asked me where I was now on duty. The 
Count'is a very entertaining man, and a great admirer 
of the fair sex. Even the princess was not left alone fora 
moment; Nathalie Nikitichna, herself, talked with her fur 
a longtime. Irene danced with the best of the gentlemen, 
so many of them that I lost the count. Justimagine; we 
were the centre of a circle; when the mazurka commenced, 
every one wished to engage Irene. A foreign ambassador, 
learning that she lived here, said tothe Emperor: ‘Sire, 
Moscow is decidedly the centre of your empire!’ Ano- 
ther ambassador said: ‘Sire, this is truly a revolution,’ — 
revolution or revelation. . . . something of that kind, 


Yes, it was a very remarkable evening, I assure you.” | 


Smoke. 75 


**But Irene Pavlovna,” asked Litvinof, who felt his 
blood chill while the prince was talking, ‘‘was she 
amused, did she seem contented?” 

‘**Of course, she was amused, she could not help it. 
As to her being contented, she is very hard to understand, 
you know. Everybody said last night: ‘ How surprising! 
we cannot believe that this is your daughter’s first ball.’ 
Among others, there was Count Reuzenbach; of course 
you know him?” 

*“No, I do not know him, nor have I ever seen him.” 

**He is my wife’s cousin.” 

**T do not know him.” 

*“He is very rich, a chamberlain; he lives at St. 
Petersburg, and is a very noted man; in Livonia he 
takes the lead in everything. Up to the present time, 
he has taken very little notice of us. I do not lay up 
anything against him on that account. I am not easily 
offended you know. Well, Count Reuzenbach sat down, 
by Irene, talked with her about fifteen minutes, and 
then said to the princess: ‘Cousin, your daughter is a 
pearl; she is perfect; everybody congratulates me on 
having such a niece.’ After that, I saw him approach 
a person of very high rank, speak to him without taking 
his eyes from Irene, and this person then looked at 


her; a7; 2? 


Pe i 


70 Smoke. 


‘* Then Irene Pavlovna cannot be seen to-day?” again 
asked Litvinof. : 

‘“No; she has a bad headache. She requested me to 
speak to you and thank you for your bouquet, which 
every one admired. She needs rest. The princess has 
gone to make some calls, and I also... .” The prince 
coughed, not knowing how to finish his speech. 

Litvinof said that he would not trouble him longer, but 
would call again in the evening, took up his hat and went 
away. . 

A few steps from the house, he saw an ele gant coupé 
stop before a watch-box, in which was stationed an officer 
of the police. A footman in rich livery, carel-:ssly leaned 
forward and asked the officer where Prince J ul Vasilie- 
vitch Osinine lived. Litvinof looked into tht sarriage as 
he passed. It was occupied by a man of abo | fifty, with 
a florid and wrinkled face, a straight nose and siv{ster 
looking lips; he was wrapped in a beaver elaak and 


seemed a person of very high rank. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Litvinof did not call in the evening as he had promised; 
he waited until the next day at noon. On entering the 
drawing-room, which was so familiar to him, he found 
there only the two little girls, Victorine and Cleopatra. 
He kissed them, and asked if Irene Pavlovna was better, 


and if he could now see her. 


> answered 


“Trinochka has gone out with mamma,’ 
Victorine, who was the bolder of the two. 

‘What! gone out!” said Litvinof, with a new trem- 
bling of the heart. ‘‘Is not this the time when she 
generally is with you, when she is giving you your les- 
sons?” 

‘‘Trinochka is not going to give us any more lessons,” 
answered Victorine. 

*‘She is not going to give us any more,” repeated 
Cleopatra. 

‘*Is your father at home?” asked Litvinof. 


78 Smoke 


‘¢ Papa is not at home, and Irinochka is sick; she was 
crying all night.” 

‘¢ She was crying ?” 

“Yes, Egorovna told me so, and her eyes are very red 
and swollen.” 3 

Litvinof walked up and down the room, shivering as 
with cold, then abruptly left, and went slowly home. He 
felt as though he were standing on some dizzy height and 
looking into the depths below. A giddiness seized him, 
a thousand petty thoughts seemed swarming through his 
brain; he felt a stupid surprise, a confused fear. His 
throat was dry, his tears would not flow. A sickly smile 
was on his face, and vain and piteous cries came from his 
lips. Oh! how sad and cruel was this scene! ‘* Irene 
will not see me,” he said again and again, ‘‘ but why? 
What can have happened at that fatal ball? Can any- 
thing change so suddenly?” (Men see death come sud- 
denly every day, and yet never take to heart its solemn 
lesson.) ‘‘ Why will she not see me, why not explain 
this trouble to me?” 

‘Gregory Mikhailovitch,” said a voice at his side. 

Litvinof started; his servant stood before him with a 
letter in his hand. He recognized the writing; it was 
Irene’s. Before opening the letter, with a presentiment 


of evil, he bent his head and stood firmly, as though 
* 


Smoke. 79 


waiting fora blow. At last taking courage, he tore open 
the envelope. Ona small sheet of paper were traced the 
following words: 

“‘Forgive me, Gregory Mikhailovitch. All is ended 
between us; I am going to St. Petersburg. I am broken 
down with grief, but cannot help myself. Doubtless this 
is my fate. . . . But I will not try to justify myself. 
My presentiments are realized. Forgive me and forget 


me; I am not worthy of you. Be generous; do not try 
to see me.” IRENE. 


Litvinof read these lines and fell back upon his divan, 
as though struck down by an invisible hand. He let the 
note slip from his fingers, picked it up again, read it the 
second time, murmured: ‘‘ to St. Petersburg,” and again 
let it fall upon the floor. The calmness of despair seemed 
to settle upon him; he raised his hands slowly, and care- 
fully arranged the cushions behind his head. ‘* Those 
who are wounded unto death are thus calm,” he thought. 
““She came like a vision and she has disappeared like 
one... Itisvery natural; I expected it.” (He'deceived 
himself, he had never dreamt of such a thing.) ‘*She 
did not love me. Her character explains it all, How 
truly she says, she is not worthy of me!” He smiled 
bitterly. ‘‘She did not know her own worth; after learn- 
ing it at the ball, why should she any longer think of a 


- poor student like me? . . I can easily understand it all. ‘ 


80 Smoke. 


But when he thought of her tender words, of her 
smiles, of her loving eyes, those eyes which glowed with 
love and happiness when meeting his; when he thought 
of the one kiss which he had stolen from her lips, he 
burst into a wild and uncontrollable fit of passion; he 
turned, panting, and fiercely beat his head against the 
wall, and at last, throwing himself down upon the divan, 
he buried his purple face in the cushions, and bit them 
again and again in his blind fury. 

The gentleman whom Litvinof had seen in the coupé 
the day before, was the cousin of Princess Osinine, the 
rich chamberlain, Count Reuzenbach. Struck with the 
impression which Irene had made in high places, and 
seizing with a glance all the advantages which she might 
gain for him, the count, like a wise and energetic man, 
prepared for the attack at once. Like Napoleon, he al- 
ways acted promptly. ‘I will take this strange young 
girl home with me,” thought he; “she shall become, 
when the devil wills it, heiress to part of my fortune, at 
least. I have no children; she is my niece, and my wife 
is tired of living alone. . . . Besides it is always pleasant 
to have a pretty face in the room. . . . Yes, yes, es ist 
eine Idee, es ist etive ldee tl” But something would be 
required to persuade and dazzleher family. ‘‘ They have 


scarcely enough to eat,” continued the count, already in y 


- 
& 


Smoke. 81 


his carriage, driving toward their house, ‘‘ there is no dan- 
ger that they will oppose me. They do not care for her 
enough for that. Besides if it prove necessary, 1 can buy 
them off. But will she consent? I think she will. The 
honey she tasted of last night was sweet. Suppose this 
a whim of mine; they have only to profit by it. . . . 
the idiots. I will say to them: You must decide at once, 
or I will adopt, instead, a young orphan girl who pleases 
me quite as well. Yes or no, I must have an answer 
within twenty-four hours, uzd damit punktum.” 

It was with these arguments the count presented him- 
self before the prince, who had been notified the day be- 
fore of his intended visit. It is useless to dwell upon the 
conversation, or its result. The count was not mistaken 
in his calculations; the prince and princess were easily 
persuaded, and received a present from him. Irene, too, 
gave her consent before the twenty-four hours had passed 
away. It was not easy for her to give up Litvinof, for 
she really loved him; she kept her bed for some time af- 
ter her note was sent to him, and shed many tears. 
Nevertheless, a month later, the princess took her to St. 
Petersburg, to the count’s home, and left her with the 
countess, a good woman in her way, but having no more 
force of character than a hen. 


Litvinof-soon aiterward left the University to return to 


82 Smoke. 


his father’s country home. Little by little his wound 
healed. At first he heard nothing of Irene; he always 
avoided speaking of St. Petersburg, or its society. In 
course of time, however, rumors reached him; rumors 
less disagreeable than strange. Irene had acquired re- 
nown; surrounded with splendor, and having a peculiar 
power of her own, her name had spread further and fur- 
ther, even to the country towns. It was spoken with cu- 
riosity, with envy, even with ‘respect, as the name of 
Countess Vorotinski used to be. At last came the news 
of her marriage; but Litvinof scarcely gave it a thought; 
he was already betrothed to Tatiana. The reader can 
now understand what memories flashed through Litvinof’s 
mind, when he so suddenly cried out: ‘‘ Can she have left 
it!” We will now return to Baden, and again take up 


the broken thread of our story. 


CHAPTER IX. 


The night was far spent when Litvinof at last fell into 
a heavy slumber. He did not sleep long, however, but 
rose with the sun. From his windows he could see the 
dark outline of the mountains clearly drawn against the 
bright blue of the summer sky. ‘‘ How cool and pleasant 
it seems out under the trees,” he thought. He dressed 
quickly, and casting a dreamy glance at the bouquet, 
which had budded out more fully during the night, took 
his cane and started for the Old Castle. Drinking in the 
strong and bracing morning air, and calmed by its sooth- 
ing influence, he walked on briskly, his young blood 
dancing in his veins, and the ground itself seeming to 
spring beneath his feet. With each step he grew more 
happy and light-hearted. He walked through a narrow : 
gravel path, in the shade of the dark pines which bor- 
dered it. ‘This is delightful,* he now and then ex- 


claimed. Suddenly he heard voices that seemed familiar 


84 Smoke. 


to him, and, looking round, saw Vorochilof and Bambaef 
approaching. ‘They had not seen him, and like a truant 
schoolboy, he sprang from the path, and hid himself be- 
hind a bush. He devoutly prayed to be delivered from 
his countrymen. He would have given almost any sum 
in order to escape them. His prayer was granted; his 
countrymen did not s¢e him. Vorochilof was explaining to 
Bambaef in his self-satisfied tone, the different ‘‘ phases’ 
of Gothic architecture; the latter was simply grunting 
his approbation. I* was very clear that Vorochilof was 
wearying him with his phases, and that the brave en- 
thusiast had had about enough of them. Fora long time 
Litvinof watched them, bending anxiously forward and 
biting his lips; for a long time he heard the sharp, nasal 
sound of the archzological discourse, but, ‘at last, all was 
still. Litvinof breathed more freely, left his hiding place 
and continued his walk. 

He wandered about for three hours among the moun- 
tains. Sometimes he left the path, and sprang from rock 
to rock, often slipping on the moss which covered them ; 
sometimes he sat down on a shelf of stone in the shade of 
an oak or beech tree, and let his thoughts wander to the 
ceaseless murmur of the brook hidden beneath the ferns, 
the rustling of the leaves, or the cheery song of the 


blackbird. A pleasant drowsiness soon took possession 


Smoke. 85 


of him, soft arms seemed lulling him to slumber, his eyes 
closed. With a start he opened them again, but as noth- 
ing could be seen except the golden rays of sunshine 
glimmering through the leaves, he smiled, and this time 
soundly slept. When he awoke, feeling hungry, he 
climbed to the Old Castle, where for a few kreutzers, a 
glass of excellent milk with coffee can be obtained. 
Scarcely had he taken a seat at one of the little white tables, 
which are on the terrace near the Castle, when he heard 
the panting of tired horses, and three carriages appeared, 
from which a party of ladies and gentlemen descended. 
Litvinof immediately recognized them as Russians, al- 
though they all spoke French, or rather decause they 
spoke French. The ladies were dressed with the greatest 
elegance; the gentlemen wore black coats, newly made 
and fitting closely to the form, different from the ordinary 
fashion, gray pantaloons, black cravats, and very glossy 
silk hats. These gentlemen all had a decidedly military 
air; in fact they belonged to the army. Litvinof saw 
before him a pic-nic of young officers, persons of high 
rank and great weight in society. Their importance was 
revealed at once by their supercilious manner, their 
patronizing smiles and their careless yet,affected glances. 
It could be noticed also, in the shrug of their shoulders, 


the graceful bow, and the slight bending of the knee; 


ied 


86 Smoke. 


even in the sound of their voices, which always seemed 
to address less fortunate creatures, in tones of mingled 
condescension and diseust. All these warriors seemed 
fresh from the barber’s care, and were scented with a 
strange odor of the barracks and the boudoir, a mixture 
of the smoke of good cigars and the perfume of genuine 
patchouli. They all had long, white, aristocratic l.ands, 
with finger-nails as smooth and polished as ivory; their 
mustaches were well waxed, their teeth white and regular, 
their complexions clear, their cheeks rosy, and their chins 
smoothly shaven. Some were frivolous, others thought- 
ful, but all bore the same brand of the most exquisite 
gentility. Each one seemed thoroughly convinced of his 
own worth, and the importance of his future position in 
the State, but for the time being a light, shade of that 
indifference and petulance which appears so natural ina 
foreign country, agreeably modified this perhaps too 
marked expression. 

After taking their seats in a noisy manner, the party 
called upon the waiters, who appeared much confused 
by the numerous orders given them. Litvinof hurriedly 
finished his glass of milk, paid for it, and, taking up his 
cane, had nearly passed the last of the pic-nic party, 
when he was stopped by the sound of a woman’s voice. 


** Gregory Mikhailovitch, do you not know me?” 


Smoke. 84 


He stopped at once; his heart had too often beat re: 
sponsive to that voice for him to disregard it now. He 
turned about and saw Irene. She was seated by one of 
the tables, resting her hands on the back of a chair, 
bending towards him and smiling; she was gazing on 
him earnestly, almost with delight. 

Litvinof recognized her at,once, though she had 
changed greatly since he had last seen her so many years 
before. The young girlhad become awoman. Her form, 
had rounded into perfect symmetry, and the graceful out- 
line of her\sloping shoulders, which had seemed so narrow 
in former days, now called to mind the cloud encircled 
goddesses which are pictured on the ceilings of old Italian 
palaces. Her eyes, however, remained the same, and it 
seemed to Litvinof that they looked upon him as in those 
happy days in her humble home at Moscow. 

‘*Trene Pavlovna?” he asked, as if in doubt. 

**You recognize me? How delightful! —How—” She 
stopped, blushed slightly, and in a more collected man- 
ner said in French: ‘‘ What a pleasant meeting! Allow 
me to make you acquainted with my husband. Valerien, 
M. Litvinof, a friend of my childhood; Valerien Vladimir- 
ovitch Ratmirof, my husband.” 

‘One of the young ofiicers, the most exquisite perhaps 


of the whole party, ros and bowed to Litvinof in the 


88 Smoke. 


most polite manner, while each one of his companions 
buried himself, so to speak, in his dignity, silently pro- 
testing against any communication with such an ordinary 
mortal. The ladies, meantime, thought it necessary to 
wink and smile, and even express their great astonishment. 

‘* Have you been long at Baden?” asked General Rat- 
mirof, evidently at a loss how to greet the friend of his 
wife’s childhood. | 

“‘Not very long,” answered Litvinof. 

“‘Do you intend to remain here long?” continued the 
obsequious general. 

“‘T have not yet decided.” 

‘*Ah! I am pleased to hear it.” 

The general said no more, neither did Litvinof. They 
both stood, bowing and staring at each other’s eyebrows. 

“* Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche,” sang, out of 
tune, (up to the present time, I have never had the plea- 
sure of meeting a Russian gentleman who did not sing 
out of tune)—a short-sighted, sallow-faced officer, whose 
features wore a constant expression of irritation, as though 
he could not make up his mind to forgive his own ap- 
pearance. He was the only one of the party who did not 
rejoice in a pink and white complexion. 

‘Why do you not sit down, Gregory Mikhailovitch ?” 


said Irene, at last. 


Smoke. 89 
\ 
Litvinof accepted the situation, and took a seat. 
**T say, Valerien, give mea light,” said another officer, 
- also young but very stout, with motionless, vacant-looking 
| eyes, and thick and silky side-whiskers, which he caressed 
gently with his white hands. Ratmirof passed him a 
silver match-box. 

“* Have you any cigarettes?” lisped one of the ladies. 

*¢ Some real papelitos, Countess.” 

“* Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche,” again sang the 
short-sighted officer. 

‘‘You must surely come to see us,” Irene had in the 
meantime said to Litvinof, ‘‘we are stopping at the 
hotel de ’ Europe. 1 am always at home from four to 
six. It is so long since we have met.” 

Litvinof looked fixedly at Irene, but she did not evade 
his glance. 

** Yes, Irene, it is along time. Not since we were at 
Moscow.” 

‘* At Moscow—at Moscow,” she repeated after a pause. 
“*But come, let us talk together of old times,” she con- 
tinued. ‘‘Do you know, Gregory Mikhailovich, you 
have not changed much?” | 

*“Indeed! but you have greatly changed, Irene Pav- 
jovna.” 


**T have grown older.” 


gc Smoke. 


“That is not what Imean... .” 

‘*Trene !” said a lady whose yellow hair was surmounted 
. bya hat of the same color, and who had just been whisper- 
ing and laughing with the gentleman at her side, ‘‘Irene!” 

‘‘] have grown older,” continued Irene, without an- 
swering this lady, ‘‘but I have not changed. No, I 
have not changed at all.” 

“ Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche,” again hummed 
the irritable officer, whose memory could not carry him 
beyond the first line of his song. ’ 

‘¢ That was very good, your Excellency,” said the stout 
officer in a loud voice, alluding probably to some amusing 
story circulating in the fashionable world; and, with a 
harsh laugh, he again assumed his vacant stare. All the 
rest of the company seemed to share his merriment. 

‘What a sad dog you are, Boris,” said Ratmirof ina 
fow tone. He spoke these words in English, with a 
perfect accent. 

“Irene !” called a third time the lady in the yellow hat. 

Irene turned quickly toward her. 

‘Well! what do you want?” 

** J will tell you some other time,” replied the lady, ac- 
companying the words with an affected toss of her head. 
This lady was not at all good looking, but she seemed to 


think she was, 


Smoke. ; g! 


Irene frowned and shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 

** But where is M. Verdier? Why does he not come?” 
asked another lady in those drawling tones used by the 
Russians, which are so shocking to French ears. 

‘Ves, yes, M. Verdier, M. Verdier,” cried a lady just 
arrived from Armazas. 

** Be comforted, ladies,” said Ratmirof, ‘‘M. Verdier 
promised me that he would place himself to-day at your dis- 
posal. He! he! he!” The lady began playing with her fan. 

One of the waiters brought forward several glasses of beer. 

** Baierisch Bier?” asked the stout officer, in a gut- 
tural voice and affecting astonishment. ‘‘ Guten Morgen.” 

‘* By the way! Does Count Paul still keep his place?” 
carelessly asked one young officer of another. 

‘* Yes,” was the reply in the same tone; ‘‘ but con- 
ditionally ; it is reported that Serge will succeed him.” 

‘Indeed !” said the first. 

‘* Yes,” murmured the second. 

‘¢T cannot understand,” said the singing officer, *f why 
Paul made such explanations. He tortured a merchant 
and made him disgorge. . . . Well, what ofit? He 
probably had his reasons.” 

‘He was afraid of the criticisms of the press,” growled 
some one. 

The irritable officer suddenly flared up. 


G2 Smoke. “ 


-——“ Oh! that is the last: thing I should care for. The 
papers! the critics! If I had my way, the papers would 
not be allowed to publish anything but the meat and 
bread tax, and the advertisements of the merchants.” 

** And of the auction sales of the nobles’ lands,” added 
Ratmirof. 

Sexvesy perhaps $0. s) se « * But, what strange 
conversation, gentlemen, for Baden, at the Old Castle!” 

**Not at all,” said the lady with the yellow hat. ‘I 
adore political questions.” 

“The lady is right,” said an officer with a polite 
manner and delicate features, like a girl’s. ‘* Why 
should we avoid these questions. . . . even at 
Baden?” While speaking thus, he turned toward 
Litvinof with a condescending smile. “* Never, under 
any circumstances, ought an honest man to sacrifice 
his convictions. Is it not so?” 

**Certainly,” replied the irritable officer, also glancing 
at Litvinof, with a severe look, as though addressing him 
an indirect reproof, ‘‘ but I do not see the necessity. . .” 

“Indeed,” answered pleasantly the polite young officer. 
‘Our friend, Valerien Vladimirovitch, has alluded to the 
offering of the nobles’ lands for sale. Is not that a fact?” 

“But they cannot be sold, no one will buy them,” 


said the irritable officer. 


Smoke. 93 


‘‘That is true. All the more reason for stating the 
fact, the deplorable fact. We are ruined and ee 
that is indisputable; but nevertheless we are great land ; 
proprietors; we represent a principle. To support this 
principle is our duty. (Excuse me, madam, I believe 
you have dropped your handkerchief.) When positive 
blindness affects even the most elevated minds of the ~ 
nation, we ought to make known, with deference to 
others, of course (here the officer stretched forth his 
hand) we ought to point out with a patriot’s zeal the 
abyss toward which we are all tending. We ought to 
cry aloud, respectfully but firmly, ‘Go back, go back.’ 
This is our duty.” 

‘*But it would be impossible to retrace our steps,” said 
Ratmirof, with a thoughtful air. 

““Not at all,.my dear friend. The further back we 
went the better would it be for us,” answered the polite 
officer, smiling and looking again at Litvinof, who this 
time lost his patience. ee 

‘Would you then goback to thetimes of the Bojars? ” 
he asked. 

** And why not? I express my opinion freely. I would ae 
repeal everything... yes, everything that has been done.” 


‘Even the tgth of February?” * 


* Tt was on the 19th of February that the Emperor Alexander II. issued his 
decree emancipating the serfs. 


fray 


[ 
| 
| 


tate) 
f ’ 


so 


94 Smoke. 


“‘Even the 19th of February. . . . so far as possible. 
A man is a patriot or he is not. And what of liberty? 


you ask me. Do you believe that liberty is so sweet to 


ce the peoples sAsk thems apnea. 


** Try to take it from them,” said Litvinof. 

‘* What is the gentleman’s name?” whispered the offi- 
cer to Ratmirof. 

‘Speaking of the papers and the critics,” suddenly 
interposed the stout officer, who evidently in this com- 
pany played the part of a spoiled child, ‘* permit me to 
tell you a wonderful story in which I play a part. I was 


informed that an editor had published a libel on me. I 
ordered him brought beforeme. . . . ‘So you amuse 


yourself, my friend, by writing libels?’ said I. ‘So you 
are burning with patriotism?’ ‘Iam,’he replied. ‘And 
you love money too, do you not?’ ‘Ido,’ said he: At 
this point, gentlemen, I placed the handle of my cane be-~ 
neath his nose. ‘Do you like that, my dear fellow?’ 
‘No,’ said he, ‘I donot.’ ‘Be sure of that, I have a 
strong arm, you know.’ ‘No, I do not like it, I amsure.’ 
‘Very well, my dear fellow, I like it, but not on my back. 
Do you understand the allegory, my dear friend?’ ‘I 
do,’ said he. ‘Very well, hereafter try to be more con» 
siderate and polite. Now, go! there is a.rouble, pray 


for me night and day.’ And the editor went away.” 


Smoke. 95 


The officer began to laugh, All joined in with him . 


except Irene, who did not even smile, but threw a gloomy 
look upon the speaker. 

The polite officer shook Boris by the shoulder. 

**'You made that all up, my dear fellow. You can not 
make me believe that you can frighten any one with your 
cane. You donot evenown one. You told that story 
to make the ladies laugh. But this has nothing to do 
with our subject. I was just saying that we must retrace 
our steps. Understand me; I am not opposed to what is 
called progress, but these universities, seminaries and 
common-schools, these students and priests’ sons, these 
plebeians, all this trash, this chaff, these small landowners, 
worse than the old serfs,” (he said all this in a drawling 
tone), ‘‘these are what trouble me. These we must put 
down.” (Here he cast another pleasant look at Litvinof). 
‘Yes, we must put them down. Do not forget that we 
do not ask for any of these so-called rights. Self-govern- 
ment, for example, do any of us wish it? Do you, ladies, 
who not only govern yourselves, but also do what you 
will with us?” A mischievous smile here lighted up his 
delicate features. ‘‘ Dear friends, why should we, like the 
hare, run into danger while trying to avoid it? ‘The peo- 
ple are satisfied with you. ... at present; they praise 


you, and are ready to enter into your views. . . .but they 


96 Smoke. 


are not to be trusted. The former system was the best 
and surest. Do not let the comrron people reason on 
these things; confide in the aristocracy, the only true 
power, and I promise you that all will go well. As for 
progress, I would not stand in the way of that. Only do 
not impose lawyers and juries on us, and do not interfere 
with military discipline ; then, if you desire, you may 
build bridges, wharves and hospitals, and even light the 
streets with gas.” 

‘¢ They set St. Petersburg on fire, and called that prog- 
ress,” said the irritable officer. 

‘‘T see by your speech that you can be very bitter,” 
said the stout officer; ‘‘ you would make an excellent 
attorney-general for the Holy Synod; for me, with Orphée 
aux Enfers, progress has spoken its last word.” 

‘You are always saying stupid things,” cried the lady 
from Armazas, in a shrill voice. 

‘‘T am never more in earnest, madam, than when I 
am saying stupid things,” answered the officer in an em- 
phatic tone. 

‘‘ That is one of M. Verdier’s speeches,” said Irene in 
a low voice. 

‘‘ Power and elegance for me, especially power,” con- 
tinued the stout officer. ‘‘Or, as we say in Russia: Be 


polite, but break his jaw.” 


Smoke. 97 


*©Oh! you are a violent fellow,” said the polite officer. 
‘Ladies, do not believe him; he would not hurt a fly; 
he is contented with breaking hearts.” 

‘“No, Boris,” began Ratmirof, after exchanging glances 
with his wife, ‘‘ joking aside, you are exaggerating. Prog- 
ress is inseparable from a nation’s life; we must not lose 
sight of it; it is a problem to be studied.” 

‘‘Oh! yes,” said the stout officer, ‘‘ we all know that 
you are expecting to enter into politics.” 

*“Not at all; leave politics out of the question; only 
let us recognize the truth.” 

Boris began to stroke his whiskers and stare again into 
the air. 

‘The study of social problems is very important, be- 
cause in the development of peoples, in the destinies, so 
torspeak, of nations.". .°.” 

**Valerien,” interrupted Boris, in an expressive tone, 
*“‘there are ladies present. I would not have believed thig 
of you. Do you think you are in a committee-room ?” 

‘*Thank goodness! their mouths are all stopped at 
last,” said the irritable officer, and he again went at his 
song, ‘‘ Deux gendarmes, un beau dimanche.” 

Ratmirof delicately touched his face with a fine cam. 
bric handkerchief, and subsided into silence. 


Boris turned toward a lady by his side, and without low- 


a 
¢ 
\ 
\ 
\ 
\ 
i 
H 
; 
3 
4 


j 


98 Smoke. 


ering his voice or changing his expression, asked, ‘‘ when 
she would crown his flame?” adding that ‘‘ he was deeply 
smitten, and suffering all the pangs of unrequited love.” 
During all this time Litvinof had gradually become 
_more and more uncomfortable. His pride, his honest and 


manly pride was wounded. What had he, the son of a 
poor clerk, in common with these military aristocrats from 
St. Petersburg? He loved what they hated, and hated 
what they loved; this he understood clearly, and felt 


_ strongly. He found their wit flat, their conceit insuffer- 
hentia) 


ableand their manners overbearing. Even in the smooth- 


ness of their words, there was concealed an insulting con- 


o"tempt. Yet though he despised them, he could not en- 


| 
| 


tirely repress a feeling of danger while in the presence of 


these men, these enemies as they seemed. ‘‘ How fool- 


~~jsh Iam to remain here,” he said to himself; ‘‘my com- © 


pany is not desired, and I serve only as a laughing-stock 
for them.” 

Even Irene could not longer detain him; as he looked 
upon her, only painful thoughts came to his mind. He 
rose, and bowed to the party. 

‘Are you going so soon?” said Irene. After a mo- 


ment’s thought, however, she did not urge him to re- 
main, but simply made him promise to call upon her 


soon. General Ratmirof returned his bow with his usual 


\ 


Smoke. 99 


politeness, shook. hands with him and accompanied him 
to the border of the terrace. Litvinof, however, had 
scarcely entered the path before him, when he heard 
shouts of laughter from the party he had left. This mer- 
riment was not at his expense, but was caused by the 
sudden appearance of the so-much-desired M. Verdier, 
who was mounted on a donkey, and covered with a blue 
blouse and Swiss hat. Litvinof thought they were laugh- 
ing at him. His face grew red, and his lips compressed, 
as though he had swallowed a dose of colocynth. is” 

‘‘'What a contemptible set!” he muttered, witout 
reflecting that the few moments he had spent in their 
society scarcely gave him the right to judge them so 
severely. 

So these were the people among whom Irene’s lot had 
fallen; among whom she lived and reigned, he thought. 
It was for them that she had sacrificed her dignity, and 
trampled under foot the most sacred feelings of her heart. 
It seemed like retribution, as though she had not de- 
served a happier fate. How glad he was that Irene had 
not questioned him regarding his thoughts and feelings. 
He would have had to explain before those enemies. . . 
*“Never! never!” he exclaimed, as he took a full breath 
of the fresh mountain air, | | 


He returned to Baden at a rapid pace. He thought of 


100 Smoke. 


his betrothed, the good and gentle Tatiana, who now 
seemed to him still more pure and true and noble. With 
what pleasure did he recall her features, her words, even 
her slightest peculiarities! With what impatience did he 
await her coming ! 

The rapid walk soothed his nerves. Arriving at his 
rooms, he took up a bookand sat down to read; he soon 
let it fall, however, and gave a loose rein to his thoughts. 
What had happened tohim? He had simply met Irene. 
But this meeting seemed so strange, so incomprehensible. 
Could it be possible? He had seen and spoken to Irene 
herself. And why did she not have that hateful air, 
which characterized all the others? Why did she seem 
scarcely able to endure her situation? She was in their 
camp, but she was not an enemy. And why did she 
meet him so kindly, and why urge him to call upon her? 

Litvinof broke suddenly from this train of thought, 
and raising his head, with rapture cried: ‘‘ Oh! Tatiana, 
thou art my good, my guardian angel! It is thee only 
that I love, and will love forever! I will not see Irene 
again. May God bless her, and may she be happy with 
her officers!” So saying, he took up his book againg, 


GHA FIER. 3: 


Litvinof took up his book, but found it impossible tc 
read. He went out, walked about a little, listened to the 
music, looked at the players in the gambling hall, and 
finally went back to his room, trying again to read with- 
out better success than before. The time seemed to 
pass very slowly. At last Pichtchalkin, the worthy jus- 
tice of the peace, came in, and passed three long hours 
with him. He talked incessantly, putting questions to 
himself, and arguing upon them, touching upon now the 
most elevated, now the most ordinary subjects, and 
finally so wearied Litvinof that he was on the point of 
shrieking with despair. For creating a cold and dreary 
gloom without escape or remedy, Pichtchalkin had not 
his equal, even among the profound philosophers who 
possess this faculty in the highest degree. The very ap- 
pearance of his bald and shiny head, his small eyes and 
wofully regular nose, unconsciously gave one the blues, 
while his slow and monotonous baritone voice seemed 
made expressly to enunciate in grave and measured 


tones such sentences as the following: Two and two 


102 Smoke. 


make four, not three or five; water is a liquid; benevo- 
lence is praiseworthy ; credit is as indispensable to the 
state as to the individual, in financial operations. Not- 
withstanding, he was one of the best of men; such is 
the fate of Russia, the best of her subjects are uncom- 
fortable associates. At last Pichtchalkin left him, but 
was succeeded by Bindasof, who boldly asked for a hun- 
dred florins, which Litvinof lent him, though not liking 
Bindasof at all, and very certain that the money, which 
he really needed himself, would never return to him. 
Why then did he lend it? the reader asks. Perhaps 
he can find the answer in his own experience. How 
many times has he done very much the same thing ? 
Bindasof did not take the trouble to thank Litvinof, but 
ordered a large glass of Affenthaler (a native red wine) 
and went out, without wiping his lips, making a great 
clatter with his heavy boots. How angry with himself 
Litvinof felt, as he saw the thick red neck of the inso- 
lent fellow disappearing through the door! . 

In the evening, he received a letter from Tatiana, 
who wrote that, on account of the illness of her aunt, 
she would not be able to go to Baden for five or six days 
at least, This letter caused him great disappointment 
and added still further to his gloom. He went to bed 


early, in a very bad humor. The next morning his 


Son Be | 103 


room was filled by his countrymen; Bambaef, Voro- 
chilof, Pichtchalkin, two officers and two students from 
Heidelberg, all called at the same early hour, and did 
not take their departure till near dinner time, though 
they had nothing in particular to say, and evidently were 
not greatly entertained. They did not seem to know 
what to do with themselves. They began by speaking 
of Goubaref, who had returned to Heidelberg, where 
they thought they must go to join him; then they talk- 
ed philosophy, touched on the Polish question, and told 
various scandalous stories of the roulette table and its 
frequenters. The conversation finally turned to the 
subject of men noted for their strength, size and glut- 
tony. Some very old and stale stories were told. The 
best of them were of the deacon who made a bet that he 
could swallow thirty-three herrings ; and of the soldier 
who broke a cowhide over his brow. Pichtchalkin, 
with a yawn, said that he had himself known a peasant 
in Ukraine, who weighed on the day that he died more 
than six hundred pounds ; also a farmer who breakfast- 
ed on three eggs and a sturgeon. Bambaef was en- 
thusiastic as usual, and stated that he himself was equal 
to the task of eating an entire sheep if he had good sau- 
ces with it; and Vorochiloftold sucha preposterous sto« 


ry that they were all struck dumb, and finally stole 


104 Smoke. | 


away one by one, rolling up their eyes in blank aston- 
ishment. Left alone, Litvinof endeavored to find some 
occupation for the evening, but his thoughts were so 
confused that he gave up the attempt in despair. As 
he was preparing for a late breakfast, the next morning, 
he heard a knock at his door. Good heavens! Here 
are some of my friends of yesterday returned, he thought; 
and with great reluctance answered, “ Hervezn /’? The 
door softly opened and Potoughine appeared, Litvinot 
was delighted and surprised. 

‘ How kind in you!” he said, grasping his unexpect- 
ed visitor by the hand. “I would certainly have gone 
after you, if you had told me where you lived. Sit 
down; let me take your hat; sit down !” 

Potoughine made no response to this friendly saluta- 
tion, but remained standing in the middle of the room, 
smiling and shaking his head. Litvinof’s cordial greet- 
ing evidently touched him, but there was to be also seen 
upon his face a somewhat embarrassed expression. - 

“Pardon me,” he stammered. “I am very glad — 
..... but this time I have simply brought a message 
to you.” 

“Do you mean to say,’ said Litvinof reproachfully, 
“that you would not have come of your own accord ?” 


“Oh! no, but... . perhaps! should not have troub 


Smoke. 105 


led you to-day, if I had not been requested to call. As 
I said, I have a message for you.” 

** May I ask from whom ?” 

*¢ From a lady whom you know, Irene Pavlovna Rat- 
mirof. You promised her, some time ago, that you would 
call upon her, and you have not done so yet.” 

Litvinof looked at Potoughine with surprise. 

“You are acquainted with Madame Ratmirof ?” 

ePams? 

*¢ Are you well acquainted with her ?” 

“TI am aygood friend of hers.” 

Litvinof was silent for a moment. 

“Permit me to ask you,” he continued, “ if you know 
why Irene Pavlovna wishes to see me ?”’ 

Potoughine walked toward the window. 

“I partly know. So far as I can judge, she is very 
glad to have met you again, and wishes to renew her 
former relations with you.” 

“‘ Her former relations,” repeated Litvinof. ‘“ Excuse 
me, if I ask another question. Do you know what those 
relations were ?” 

“‘T really donot; but I presume,” added Potoughine, 
turning suddenly toward Litvinof with a kind expression, 


“J presume that they were very pleasant; for Irene 


106 Smoke. 


Pavlovna praised you highly, and made me promise to 
bring you to her. You will go?” 

“ When?” 

Now’ .'.. 4. at once.” 

Litvinof’s arms fell at his side. 

“Trene Pavlovna supposes,” continued Potoughine, 
“that the ... what shall I say? ... that the com- 
pany in which you saw her the other day may not have 
been very congenial to you; but she wished me to say 
to you that the devil is not so black as he is painted.” 

“Hum! ... the comparison is a very good one as 
respects that company.” 

“Ves ... inageneral way.”’ 

“Hum!.... what is your opinion of the devil, 
Sozonthe Ivanovitch ?” — 

“J believe, Gregory Mikhailovitch, that he is not 
always what he is painted.” 

“Ts he better ?” 

‘“ Better or worse, it is difficult to tell, but he is not 
what he is said to be. Well! are we going ?” 

“Sit down and rest a little first. I must confess 
that it seems somewhat strange .... ” 

“May I ask what seems strange ?” 
*¢ How you became the friend of Irene Pavlovna.” 


Potoughine modestly replied, 


Smoke. 107 


“With my face, and my position in the world, it 
must seem strange; but you know Shakespeare says, 
‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Let us employ 
a metaphor. Here is atree; there is not a breath of 
wind, it is impossible for the leaf on the lower branch 


to touch the one on the branch above it. But the 
storm comes, the branches are thrown together, and the 


two leaves now can touch each other.” 

“‘ Then there have been storms ?” 

You may well believe it! Can we live without them ? 
But enough of philosophy ; it is time to go.” 

Litvinof still hesitated. 

“ Heavens !”” cried Potoughine with a comical glance, 
“what isthe matter with the young men of to-day? 
A charming woman wishes to see them, even sends 
messengers to them, and they stop to consider! It 
is a shame, sir,a shame. Here is your hat, and vor-_ 
warts / as our friends the impetuous Germans say.” 


Litvinof still hesitated for a moment, but finally 
took his hat,.and went with Potoughine. 


CHAPTER ext. 


They directed their steps toward one of the finest 
hotels of Baden, and asked for Madame Ratmirof. 
The porter first took their names, and then answered 
that de Frau Fiirstin ist zu Hause. He showed them 
the way up-stairs, knocked at the door, and announced 
their names. Die /rau Fiirstin received them at once ; 
she was alone, her husband having gone to Carlsruhe to 
meet a Russian gentleman of great influence, who was 
passing through that city. 

Irene was seated by a little table, embroidering on 
canvas, when Potoughine and Litvinof entered the room. 
She hurriedly laid her work away, pushed the little 
table to one side, and rose to meet them. A glow of 
satisfaction spread over her handsome face. . She was 
dressed in a morning wrapper of thin material, which 
did not entirely conceal the graceful outline of her arms 
and shoulders; her hair was loosely and carelessly 
arranged. She cast a rapid glance en Potoughine, 
murmured, ‘ Thank you!” and holding ont her hand te 
Litvinof, began pleasantly to chide him for having sc 


long neglected an old friend. 


Smoke. 109 


Litvinof attempted to excuse himself, but she inter- 
rupted him at once, and taking his hat, made him sit 
down. Potoughine also took a chair, but soon left under 
the plea of urgent business, promising to call again later 
in the day. Irene gave him another quick look and 
nodded her head in a friendly way, but did not try te 
detain him. As soon as the door had closed upon him, 
she quickly turned toward Litvinof. 

“Gregory Mikhailovitch,” she said in Russian, in 
her soft and silvery tones, “at last we are alone. I can 
now say to you that it gives me great joy to meet you, 
because I now have the opportunity ” (while saying this, 
~ she looked straight into his eyes) “of asking your par- 
don.” 

Litvinof trembled in spite of himself. He had not 
expected so sudden an attack; he was not prepared to 
hear her speak so boldly of the past. | 

“Why .... my pardon for what?” he stammered. 

Irene blushed. 

“Why? You know very well,” she replied, turning 
her glance away. ‘I have been unjust toward you, 
Gregory Mikhailovitch, although, without doubt,.... 
it was my fate,“(Litvinof remembered her letter.)” I 
would not undo what I have done;... . in fact, that 


would be impossible; but having met you so unexpect- 


110 Smoke. 


edly, it seemed to me that we ought to again be 
friends; .... it will pain me very much if we do not 
become so.... This is why I think that we should 
have a thorough explanation, so that hereafter there 
may not be between us any further..... misunder- 
standing. You must tell me that you pardon me; other- 
wise I can not help feeling that you still harbor some 
ill-will. Zhatzs ali / It probably is foolish for me to 
so insist on this, for you have doubtless long since 
forgotten all about it; nevertheless, I shall be glad to 
hear you say that you have pardoned me.” 

Irene said this without stopping to take breath, and 
Litvinof noticed that tears were sparkling in her eyes. 

“Why excuse yourself, why ask for pardon, Irene 
Pavlovna?” he hurriedly replied. “Let the past go! 
I have no feeling now, except surprise that in the midst 
of the splendor which surrounds you, you should think 
at all of the humble companion of your early youth.” 

“ Does it surprise you ?” said Irene in a low voice. 

“ It does,” replied Litvinof; “I can notimagine.. .” 

“You have not told me that you pardon me,” said 
Irene, interrupting him. 

““T sincerely rejoice in your good fortune, Irene Pay 
Ovna, and wish you all possible happiness.” 


“ And you will think ill of me no more 2” 


Smoke. LbI 


** I will remember only the happy moments, which I 
once passed in your society.” 

Irene held out both her hands.  Litvinof seized 
them and did not let them fall at once. That single 
touch filled his heart with feelings he had long forgot- 
ten. Irene again looked in his face, but this time she 
was smiling. Now, for the first time, he gathered up 
sufficient courage to observe her carefully. He saw 
again those features which had once been so dear 
to him, those eyes so fathomless, beneath their long 
and drooping lashes, that wavy fall of the hair upon 
the forehead, even that slight curl of the lips and sly 
arching of the brows, which accompanied her fascinat- 
ing and well-remembered smile. But how beautiful 
she had grown! How exquisitely graceful was her 
form! There was no artificial bloom on that fresh and 
youthful face. . . . She was indeed very, very beautiful ! 
Litvinof began to dream. He was still gazing on her, 
but his thoughts were far away. 

Irene noticed his abstraction. 

“Good! now this is settled,” she continued in a 
.ouder tone, “my conscience is at rest, and I can 
satisfy my curiosity.” 

“Your curiosity?” repeated Litvinof, who did not 


catch her meaning. 


112 Smoke. 


“Yes. I want to know what you have been doing, 
and what your plans are for the future; I want to 
_ know all. And you must tell me the truth, for I fore- 
warn you, that I have not lost sight of you... . any 
more than could be helped.” 

“Youzhave not lost sight of me, .... you, at’St. 
Petersburg ?” 

‘In the midst of the splendor which surrounded me, 
as you have just remarked. Precisely so. We will 
refer again to this splendor; but now tell me your 
story. We have plenty of time before us; no one will 
disturb our interview. It will be delightful,” she con- 
tinued, gayly throwing herself back in an arm-chair, 
“ Now, go on.” 

“‘ Before commencing, I must thank you,” said Lit- 
vinof. | 

“What for ?” 

“For the bouquet which I found in my room.” 

‘What bouquet? I know nothing of it.” 

What ?” 

“TI tell you, I know nothing of it. Go on with your 
story. Oh! how kind in Potoughine to have brought 
you here.” 


Litvinof was all attention. 


Smoke. 7 113 


‘Have you known this M. Potoughine a long time ? 
he. asked. 
eres, aonie time; ... but goon,’ 


** Do you know him well ?” 

“Oh! yes,” (Irene sighed.) ‘*I became acquainted 
with him under peculiar circumstances. Of course you 
have heard of Eliza Belsky, who met with so sad a 
death two yearsago.... But I forget, you are not 
acquainted with our affairs. How strange! here is a 
man who knows nothing of what is passing among us! 
And I can talk with him in Russian, incorrect, it is true, 
but still preferable to that everlasting, insipid, and in-« 
sufferable French jargon of St. Petersburg.” 

** Potoughine, you were saying, knew this... 


“Tt is a painful subject for me to talk upon,” Irene 


9) 


answered, interrupting him. “Eliza was my dearest 
friend at school, and afterward, at St. Petersburg, we 
were inseparable. She trusted me with all her secrets ; 
she was very unhappy and suffered much.  Potou- 
ghine behaved admirably, helping her in her trouble 
like a true gentleman. He sacrificed himself for her. 
It was then that I first appreciated his worth. But we 
are getting away from our subject; I am waiting te 


hear your story, Gregory Mikhailovitch.” 


114 Smoke. 


“But my story can not interest you, Irene Pav- 
lovna.” 

“ That is my affair.’ i 

“Do you remember, Irene Pavlovna, that we have 
not seen each other for ten years or more? How 
many things have happened in all that time !” 

“That is why I wish to hear them from you.” 

“I do not know where to commence.” 

“ At the beginning. The day when you... rather 
when I went to St. Petersburg. You then left Mos- 
cow. Do you know that I have never visited Moscow 
since that time ?” 

“Indeed 1” 

“Tt was impossible at first; then, after I was mar- 
6 fol Re Ao 

“Have you been married long ?” 

“¢ About four years.” 

“Have you any children ?” 

‘“¢ No,” was her short reply. 

Litvinof was silent for a moment. 

“And up to the time of your marriage, did you 
live with that... what is his name... that Count 


Reuzenbach ?”’ 


Irene looked at him attentively. She wished to dis- 


Smoke. 115 


cover the purpose of this question. Was he so 
ignorant as he appeared to be? 

“No,” at last she answered. 

‘Then your parents . ..21 have not spoken of them 
befores; [hey are’. «.. 2”? 

“They are quite well,” 

“They live at Moscow still ?” 

Ce OVE OL? 

“‘ And your brothers? your sisters ?” 

** Are all well. I have obtained positions for them 
all.” 

‘‘Indeed!’ Litvinof cast a side glance at Irene, 
“Really, Irene Pavlovna, you are the one to tell the 
story, ifonly .. .” 

He did not know how to finish his remark. Irene 
held her hands before her face, and nervously twisted 
her wedding-ring. | 

** T will tell you some time,” she finally said. “ But it 
is your turn first; because, you see, although I have 
kept track of you, I do not know much of your adven- 
tures, while you have certainly heard of the principal 
events in which I have taken part. Is not this so? Do 
not deceive me.” 

“You have occupied too high a position in the 


world, Irene Pavlovna, not to have been talked about 


16 Smoke. 


. .. especially in the country, where every rumot 
is believed.” 

“But you have not believed them? What rumors 
have you heard ?” 

“T very seldom heard any. I lived a very retired 
life.” 

“You were a volunteer in the Crimea, though ?” 

“Did you know that ?” 

*“You see I did. I told you that I kept a watch 
upon you.” 

Litvinof became confused again. 

“Why, then,” he said in a low tone, “should I try 
to tell you what you already know?” 

“To please me, Gregory Mikhailovitch.” 

Litvinof cast down his eyes and began, in a hasty 
and disconnected manner, to give the so much desired 
story. Often he paused, addressing Irene with an ap- 
pealing glance in the hope that she would bid him stop; 
but all in vain. Irene sat quietly, leaning on the arm of 
her chair, her hair thrown carelessly back, and her 
attention apparently fixed upon him. By studying her 
features, however, a careful observer would have dis- 
covered that she was not listening to Litvinof at all, but 
was buried in deep thought. The object of this reverie 


was not Litvinof, however, though he blushed and 


Smoke. 1 7 


trembled beneath her burning glance; an entire life was 
unrolling itself before her, and that life was not Litvi- 
nof’s, but her own. 

Before ending his story, Litvinof stopped with a 
painful feeling which had gradually become more and 
more intense. This time Irene was silent, not even 
asking him to finish his account. 

Placing her hands before her eyes, she sank back 
in her chair and remained motionless. Litvinof waited 
a few moments; then remembering that he had been 
there two hours and more, he rose and took up his hat. 
At this moment the noise of footsteps was heard in the 
adjoining room, and Valerien Vladimirovitch Ratmirof 
appeared, exhaling that aristocratic perfume which 
never deserted him. 

Litvinof bowed to the amiable general ; Irene leisurely 
removed her hand from before her face, and looking at 
her husband, said in French, 

‘Ah! you have come back so soon! What time is 
it 2 

“Nearly four o’clock, my dear, and you are not yet 
dressed; the princess will be waiting for us.” Ther 
turning toward Litvinof, he added in his usual cour- 
teous tone, “ Your entertaining guest has made you for- 


get the hour.” 


‘118 Smoke. 


We must here ask the reader’s patience, while we give 
a few details respecting General Ratmirof. His father 
was the illegitimate descendant of a nobleman of the time 
of Alexander IJ., and a French actress. This nobleman 
had pushed his son forward in the world, but had not left 
him any fortune. The son, father of Valerien, had 
not had time to Lecome rich himself; he had risen 
to the rank of colonel and chief of police, when death 
suddenly overtook him. <A year before he died, he had 
married a wealthy young widow, who had placed herself 
under his protection. The offspring of this marriage, 
Valerien Ratmirof, had been admitted, by special order, 
to the military school, and soon attracted the notice 
of his superiors, less by his success in study, than by 
his military bearing and perfect obedience to orders. 
He entered the army, and hada brilliant career, thanks 
to his modest bearing, his address in the ball-room, 
and the graceful and spirited manner in which, at 
parade, he rode the horses which his comrades lent 
him ; thanks, finally, to his familiar but respectful man- 
ner toward his superiors, and his kind and flattering 
interest in others, to all of which he added a small 
grain of liberalism. This liberalism, however, did not 
deter him from having five peasants beaten to death ina 


small town of White Russia which he had been order. 


Smoke. 119: 


ed to bring to terms. His appearance was singularly 
youthful and attractive. Having a fair complexion and 
rosy cheeks, being graceful and obliging in his man- 
ner, he met with great success in the world of fashion ; 
the dowagers especially doted on him. Habitually 
prudent and always keeping his own counsel, General 
Ratmirof, like the busy bee, which gathers precious 
sweets from the plainest flowers, moved constantly in 
the best society, and, without instruction or advice, but 
with certain natural gifts, and an unalterable deter- 
- mination to push ahead as far as possible, at length 
found that there were no longer any obstacles before 
him. 

There was a constrained smile on Litvinof’s face 
while the general was speaking; Irene simply shrug- 
ged_her shoulders. 

‘‘ Well,” she said in a serious tone, “ have you seen 
the count ?” | 

“Of course I have. He desired me to give you his 
regards.” 

‘Indeed! And is your dear patron as stupid as 
ever ?” 

General Ratmirof did not answer her; her petulance 
provoked only a slight smile, such as is sometimes 


accorded to the saucy speeches of a child. 


120 Smoke. 


“Yes,” added Irene, ‘‘ your dear count is very, very 
stupid.” 

“Tt was you, yourself, that sent me to him,” mut- 
tered the general. Then turning toward Litvinof, he 
inquired in Russian if he was taking the waters at 
Baden. 

“T am in good health, and do not need them,” 
answered Litvinof, 

‘TJ am glad to hear it,’ said the general, with a 
gracious smile. “People do not usually visit Bader 
for their. health. The waters, however, are very benefi- 
cial to any one suffering, as I do, from a spasmodic 
cough.” 

Irene rose suddenly. 

‘We shall meet again soon, I hope, Gregory Mik- 
hailovitch,’ said she in French, interrupting her 
husband with a contemptuous glance. “I must now 
prepare to call on this old princess whose tiresome 
parties I detest.” | 

“You are not very complimentary to any one to-day,” 
muttered her husband, as he went into his room. 

Litvinof was walking toward the door, when Irene 
stopped him. 

“You have not told me all,” said she; ‘you have 


concealed the most important fact.” 


Smoke. 12] 


*‘\WWhat do you mean ?” 

“JT am told that you are about to marry.” 

Litvinof blushed to his very temples. He had pur 
posely not spoken of Tatiana. It was very unpleasant 
for him to find that Irene had not only discovered his 
secret, but also his attempt to conceal it from her. 
Trene’s eyes were fixed upon his face. In his confusion 
he stammered. , 

“Yes, I intend to marry,” and quickly left the room. 

Ratmirof soon returned. | 

“Why are you not dressing ?” he asked. 

“You must go alone; I have a headache.” 

“But the princess . ...” 
Irene cast one scornful glance upon her husband, 


turned quickly on her heel and left the room, 


CHAPTER XII. 


. Litvinof was as much dissatisfied with himself, as 
though he had lost at roulette or had failed to keep his 
word. His conscience told him that it was not right 
for a man who was engaged, a man of his age especially, 
to allow himself to be so influenced by tender memories 
of his former passion. ‘Why did I call upon her?” 
he asked himself. ‘On her part there is only coquetry, 
whim, caprice. Her life has become monotonous in 
its grandeur, and she’has taken a fancy to me, as an 
epicure will sometimes capriciously prefer to eat black 
bread. Why did I call upon her? Do I really de- 
spise her?” He was much troubled by this last 
thought. “Surely,” he continued, “there is and can 
be no harm in this ; I know what I am doing. Still it 
is dangerous to play with fire, and I will try to avoid it 
altogether.” Litvinof dared not yet fully admit to him- 
self how beautiful Irene now seemed to him, nor 
how powerfully she exerted her former influence 
upon him. 


The day seemed very long and dreary. At dinner he 


/ 


Smoke. 123 


sat beside a fine-looking gentleman with a heavy mus- 
tache, who did not speak a word, and gave no sign of 
breathing except by the rolling of his eyes. A hic- 
cough, however, betrayed to Litvinof his nationality, 
for he immediately cried out in Russian, with a severe 
expression, “I knew I ought not to eat that melon!” 
The evening brought no consolation with it. Under 
the very eyes of Litvinof, Bindasof won at play four 
times as much as he had borrowed of him, and not 
only did not offer to repay him, but even gave him a 
threatening look as though he resented his being a 
witness of his gain. The next morning, a troop of 
his countrymen again took possession of his room, 
As soon as he could, he got rid of them, and then 
walked to the mountains, where first he met Iyene, 
whom he pretended not to see; then Potoughingl with 
whom he would have been glad to talk, but his 
remarks elicited no reply. Potoughine was leading 
by the hand a little girl elegantly dressed. Her hair 
was very light, her eyes large and dull, her face pale 
and sickly, but marked with that impatient and impe- 
rious expression which spoiled children often have. 
Litvinof passed two hours among the mountains and 
then returned by the Adllée Lichtenthal. A lady 


whose face was covered by a blue veil was seated on 


124 Smoke. 


a bench beside the path. She rose and moved 
toward him, as he approached ; he recognized Irene. 

‘‘ Why do you avoid me, Gregory Mikhailovitch ? ” 
she said, in a trembling voice which betrayed deep 

“ feeling. 

Litvinof was confused. 

“¢ Avoid you, Irene Pavlovna?” 

Gh Co, VOU Sara 

Irene appeared greatly agitated and also somewhat 
angry. 

*¢ You are mistaken, I assure you.” 

‘“No, I am not mistaken. This morning when we 
met, I saw that you recognized me. You can not SKY 
that you did not.” 

* Truly, Irene Pavlovna. .... i 
Bre ‘Gregory Mikhailovitch, you are an honest mun, 
and have always told the truth. Now answer me! 
Did you nét recognize me? Did you not intentionally 
turn away ?” | 

‘Litvinof looked at Irene. Her eyes shone with 
strange brilliancy, her lips and cheeks betrayed their 
paleness even beneath her veil. There was something 
irresistibly sad and supplicating in the expression of 
her face and the trembling of her voice. .... Litvinol 


could dissemble no longer. 


Smoke. 125 


“Yes .... I recognized you,” he answered, after 


a moment’s pause. 
Irene shuddered and let her arms fall heavily by her 


side. 
“Why did you not speak to me?” she murmured. 
S\Whty. Veaowhyt oe 2. ” Litvinof had left the 


walk, Irene silently following him. “ Why?” he repeat 
ed, while his face grew flushed and his form trembled 
with anger. “You..... you ask me this, after what 
has happened in the past between us? Not lately, it 
is true, but before ..... at Moscow.” 

“But we decided; you promised me... .” said 
Irene. 

“TI promised nothing!” answered he. ‘ Excuse my 
hasty words, but you demand the truth; judge then 
for yourself. Must I not attribute your.... I know 
not what to call it... . your pertinacity, to a ca- 
price which I confess I can not understand, to a desire 
on your part to regain your former influence over me? 
Our paths are now very far apart! I have forgotten the 
past and become as another man; you are married 
and happy, or at least, you seem to be; you enjoy 
an enviable position in the world. Why then should 
there be this renewed intimacy? We can not under- 


stand each other now; there can be no sympathy 


126 Smoke. 


between us either as regards the future or the past 
. . . - above all, as regards the past.” . 

Litvinof spoke these words rapidly with an avertea 
face. Irene did not stir, except that, from time to 
time, she half way held out her hands toward him. 
She seemed begging him to stop, to listen to her, and 
as she heard his closing sentence, she fiercely bit her 
lip as though wounded to the quick. 

“ Gregory Mikhailovitch,” she answered in a calmer 
tone, as she walked still further from the path where a 
few persons were passing, Litvinof this time follow- 
ing her. “Gregory Mikhailovitch, believe me! If I 
imagined that I still retained a shadow of influence 
over you, I would be the first to oppose our meeting. 
If I have not done so, if I have endeavored, notwith- 
standing .... my past errors, to renew my acquain- 
tance with you, itis because: .. 3... becalisexu. .” 

“ Because,” repeated Litvinof somewhat harshly. 

“ Because,” replied Irene, with sudden energy, “1 
could not help it; because I was suffocating in that 
society, in that ezvzable position of which you speak ; 
because meeting a man in the midst of all these 
puppets—you had a sample of them, the other day, at 
the Old Castle—he appeared to my thirsty soul like a 


spring in a desert. For this, you call me capricious, 


Smoke. 127 


you suspect and even repel me, your only reason for 
so doing, being that I once sinned against you, .... 
still more against myself.” 

“You made your own free choice, Irene Pavlovna,” 
replied Litvinof fiercely, with his face still turned 
away. 

“Tt was my own. ... I do not complain, I have 
no right to complain,” hastily answered Irene, whose 
agitation seemed relieved by the very severity of Lit- 
vinof. “I know that you accuse me justly, and do not 
attempt to excuse myself. I only wish to make you 
understand my feelings, to show you that I am not _ 
governed by ‘caprice. Play the coquette with you! 
That is impossible! When I saw you, all that was 
good in me, all the happy and innocent feelings of my 
youth were reawakened. I lived again in that happy 
time, when I had not yet made my choice, that 
happy time before these last ten years. .. .” 

“Excuse me, Irene Pavlovna, but if I am not mis- 
taken, the bright and joyous period of your life 
dates from the time of our separation.” 

Irene touched her handkerchief to her lips. 

“You speak cruel words, Gregory Mikhailovitch, 
but I can not be angry with you. Oh! no, these years 


have not been pleasant ones; it was not for my ewn 


128 Smoke. 


good that I left Moscow. I have not known a single 
happy moment since that time, though you may have 


heard a different story. If I were happy could I talk 


with you as I did just now? I tell you, you do not 


know what these men are. They have no mind, no feel- 
ing; only cunning and address; music, poetry and the 
fine arts are all unknown to them. You may say that I 


used to care little enough for such things, but I never was 


Wax ; 
“~ as ignorant and indifferent as they. It is not a woman 


of the fashionable world that stands before you—a 
single glance will tell you that, if you will look upon 
me—but a poor creature, a true subject for compassion. 
Do not wonder at my words... . my pride is gone. 
I hold out my hand to you as a beggar.... I ask 
for alms,” she added with an impulse both sudden and 
irresistible ; “I ask for alms, and you... .!” 

Her voice failed her. Litvinof turned his head and 
looked upon her; she was panting, her lips were trem- 
bling. He felt his heart beat quickly, and his anger 
gently melt away. 

“You say,” continued Irene, ‘‘that our paths in life 
are wide apart; I- know that you are about to marry 
one whom you love, and that you have your life-work 
laid out before you; but we have not become such. 


strangers to each other, Gregory Mikhailovitch. that we 


Smoke. 129 


can not understand each other. Do you think that I 
have wholly lost my senses, that I am buried in this 
mire in the midst of which I live? Do not think so, I 
beg of you. Let my wearied spirit rest a little, even 
though I have to ask it in the name of those bygone 
days, which you will not forget. Let me gain some 
good from our meeting; I do not ask much, only a 
little sympathy, only that you will not drive me off, but 


9 


let me rest a little while. . . . 
Irene ceased; her voice was choked withtears. She 


sighed and held out her hand. Litvinof took it slowly 
and pressed it lightly. 

“Let us be friends,’’ murmured Irene. 

“‘ Friends,” repeated Litvinof in a sad tone. 

“ Yes, friends ; and if that be asking too much, let us 
at least be on good terms with each other, as though 
nothing had ever happened... .” 

“As though nothing had ever happened,” repeated 
Litvinof. “You just said, Irene Pavlovna, that I will 
not forget those bygone days .... whatif I can not 
forget them ?” 

A rapid smile flitted over Irene’s face, but it was 
immediately followed by an abstracted, almost terrified 
expression, 


*Doas I do, Gregory Mikhailovitch ; remember only 


130 Smoke. 


what was good in them; now give me your prom’se 
....« your sacred promise. . . ss 

‘To do what °” | | 

“Not to aveid me ... . not to wound me with- 
Out cause... -. [Do you promise ?” 

Raves. 

“And you will drive away all evil thoughts of 
mer’ 

“Yes .... but I must say that I can not under- 
stand you.” 

“It is not necessary that you should .... besides, 
if you are patient, you will understand me. Do you 
promise ?” 

“] have a’ready done so.’ 

“Thank you! I have always believed you. Now 
listen co me. I expect you to call on me to-day and to- 
morrow; J will surely be at home. I must leave you 
now; ‘he duchess is walking in the path ; she has seen 
me and I must speak to her. Farewell! Give me 
your hand ; quick! quick! farewell !” 

With a sudden pressure of the hand, Irene left him 
and went toward a lady of uncertain age, who was 
walking with a measured and majestic tread over the 
graveled path; she was followed by two maids of 


honor and a footman in showy livery. 


Smoke. 131 


“ Ah! good-day, dear madam,” said the duchess, as 
Irene respectfully drew near. “ How do you do to-day. 
Come and walk with me a little while.” 

‘Your highness is too kind,” answered Irene in an 


insinuating tone. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Litvinof waited till the duchess and her party were 
out of sight, and then walked out upon the path, He 
could not understand his feelings; he was ashamed 
and frightened, but at the same time his vanity was 
flattered. Irene’s explanation had taken him una- 
wares ; her hurried and burning words had fallen on 
him like a-storm. ‘What strange beings are these 
women of the world,” he thought; ‘how inconsist- 
ent they are, how they are spoiled by the circle in 
which they live, the emptiness of which they them- 
selves appreciate !? The fact was, he repeated these 
_ commonplaces, in order to drive away more trouble- 
some thoughts. He felt that if he should give himself 
up to serious reflection, he would probably convict 
himself of wrong. He therefore walked slowly to and 
fro, trying to fix his attention on the things about him. 
Suddenly he found himself near a bench, saw a man’s 
legs in front of him, and raised his head. The legs 
belonged to a gentleman reading a paper, and this gen- 


‘tleman was Potoughine. Litvinof uttered a slight 


Smoke. 133 


exclamation of surprise ; Potoughine laid his paper on 
his knees, and gave him a sober look; Litvinof return 
eda still more serious glance. 

“May I sit down by you?” he said at last. 

“ Certainly ; it will give me great pleasure. Only I 
warn you that you may become disgusted talking with 
me. I feel very misanthropical this morning; every 
thing appears in its darkest colors to me.” 

“That does not trouble me, Sozonthe Ivanovitch,” 
answered Litvinof as he sat down on the bench; “in 
fact, it exactly suits my present state of mind. But 
what has put you out of humor ?” 

“ Nothing that I ought to care for,” said Potoughine. 
“T should rather be pleased, for I was just reading in 
the paper of a project for judiciary reform in Russia, 
and I perceive, with sincere satisfaction, that we are at 
last showing some good sense ; that we are not again 
attempting, under the plea of being independent, pa- 
triotic, or original, to make a little addition of our own 
invention, to what is purely and plainly the logic of 
Europe. Instead of this, we are now freely borrowing, 
without amendment, all that is good from other coun- 
tries. We made enough mistakes of this kind at the 


time of emancipation. Look at the communal govern- 


ment which was then established; rectify that now if 


| 


134 Smoke. 


you can! No, I ought not to be in a bad humor on 
this account. To my misfortune, however, I have just 
met a rough diamond, and have been talking with 
him. These rough diamonds, these boasters always 
give me a fit of blues.” 

*¢ Whom do you mean ?”’ asked Litvinof. 

‘¢ Why, you know, that stout gentleman that we see 
about,who thinks himselfa musical genius. “Doubtless,’ 
he says, ‘I am not very well informed, for I have 
not studied; but I have in me far more melody and 
originality than Meyerbeer.’ In the first place, I 
wanted to ask him why he had not studied. In the sec 
ond place, leaving Meyerbeer out of the question, there 
is twenty times as much originality in the player on 
the German flute, who modestly fills his place in the 
German orchestra, as in all your rough diamonds put 
together. The difference is this, that the flute-player 
keeps his ideas to himself and does not importune the 
country of Mozart and of Haydn to listen to them ; 
while our boaster, as soon as he has composed the 
smallest waltz or ballad, with his hands in his vest- 
pockets and a disdainful smile upon his lips, declares 
himself a genius. It is the same in painting and in 
every thing. O these rough diamonds! I have had 


enough of them. Would it not be better to have done 


ty 


Smoke. 135 


with all this boasting, with all such falsehoods as these: 
‘No one ever dies of hunger in Russia. Nowhere 
can you travel so swiftly. There are enough of us ta 
bury our enemies beneath our hats.’ I hear every- 
where of the richness of the Russian nature, of our 
superior instinct, of Koulibine. Where will you find 
this richness? I see only the first dawnings of the 
awakening intellect, only a cunning worthy of brutes 
rather than of men. Instinct! Is that any thing to 
boast of ? Take an ant in the forest, and carry it away 
from its ant-hill; if you put it on the ground, it will 
immediately turn toward home. A man can not do 
the same; is it because he is inferior to the ant? In- 
stinct, even in its highest manifestations, is not a 
characteristic of human nature; what distinguishes 
man is simple and pure good sense. That is our por- 
tion, our just source of pride. As for Koulibine, who, 
without knowing any thing of mechanical science, 
made a very poor clock, I would expose his clock 
upon the pillory, with this inscription: ‘ Look, good 
people, this is the way you ought not to work.’ Kouli- 
bine is not to blame, but his method is not worth a 
straw. I am willing to praise Telouchkine for the 
boldness and skill which he displayed in his work upon 


the spire of ‘ The Admiralty ;’ but do not tell me that 


136 Smoke. 


he has shown his superiority to the German architects, 

and that they are good for nothing but to pocket 

money. He is not superior to them; he had to go to 

them to have the spire repaired after it had been in- 

jured. For Heaven’s sake, do not try to spread the idea 

in Russia, that we can achieve success without proper 

preparation. No, even if your brow be seven spans in 

t——.- width, study, beginning with the alphabet, or else re- 

main quiet and say nothing. Oh! it excites me to think 
of these things.” 

Potoughine took off his hat and began to fan himself 
with his handkerchief. | 

“Take the fine arts,” continued Potoughine, “and 
Russian manufactures! I am familiar with Russian 
boasting and also with Russian weakness, but Heaven 
help me, I have never met with a true specimen of the 
fine arts. For twenty years, we have knelt before 
Brulof, that miserable pretender, and have imagined 
that he had founded a school superior to all others. 
.... Russian fine arts! oh! oh! oh!” 

“Excuse me, Sozonthe ivanovitch,”’ said Litvinof, 
“but will you not make an exception in the case of 
Glinka ?” 

Potoughine began to scratch his head. 


“Exceptions, you know, only prove the rule Even 


Smoke. i 


in this case, however, we have not been able to dis 
pense with boasting. If we had been satisfied with 
saying that Glinka was really a remarkable musician, 
and that nothing but circumstances and his own 
faults had prevented his becoming the founder of Rus- 
Sian opera, no one would have disputed us; but no, 
we can not speak within bounds. We at once had to 
raise him to the highest rank, to call him the leadet 
of the musical profession, to pretend that other nations 
could show no one to compete with him. And as a 
proof of this, we compare him with some great genius, 
whose ‘sublime productions’ are only a pitiable imita- 
tion of foreign composers of the second order.... 
of the second order, notice ; it is very easy to imitate 
them. Oh! unfortunate barbarians who look upon 
perfection in art, as they look on the feats of the 
mountebank Rappo; a muscular foreigner can lift six 
puds with one hand—we will find some one who can 
lift twenty. You see in foreign countries they have 
nothing to compare with us. With your permission, I 
will here relate a little incident which has just come 
to my mind. Last spring, I visited the Crystal Palace 
at London; in that building, as you know, are col- 
lected specimens of all kinds of inventions ; it.is,.so to 


speak, an encyclopedia of humanity. As I was walking 


; 
| 


138 Smoke. 


among all these machines and implements, and gazing 
at all the statues of great men about me, this thought 
came to my mind: if any nation were suddenly to dis- 
appear from the surface of the globe, and if, at the same 
time, every thing which this nation had invented were to 
vanish from this building, our dear, good mother, ortho- 
dox Russia might bury herself in Tartary, without mak- 
ing the slightest disturbance. Every thing would remain 
quietly in its place; for the sasovar, the bark shoes, 
and the knout—our most important productions, these 
even were not invented by us. The disappearance 
of the Sandwich Islands would produce more effect ; 
their inhabitants have designed certain lances and 
canoes ; their absence would be noticed by the visi- 
tors.. All our early inventions came from the East, 
all our late ones from the West, and still we continue 


to dilate on the originality of our art and our national 


~ 


productions. Some young philosophers ‘have even 


discovered a Russian science, a Russian arithmedt: 
Two and two make four here as elsewhere, but more 
completely, it appears.” 

“But stop a moment, Sozonthe Ivanovitch,” cried 
Litvinof. ‘We have sent some articles to the World’s 
Fair, and Europe buys many of our productions.” 


“Yes, some animal products; but just notice this, 


Smoke. 135 


sir, that these animal products are good only as a 
result of unfortunate circumstances, Our _ hogs’ 
bristles, for instance, are long and stiff, because the 
animals themselves are lean; our leather is strong 
and thick because the cattle are poor; our tallow is 
solid because pieces of flesh are mixed in withit. But 
why should I say more on this subject; you have 
studied technology and understand all this better than 
I. I hear of Russian ingenuity. Well, here are our 
farmers complaining bitterly and suffering immense 
losses because they have no drying-machine, which 
will take the place of the ovens in which they have been 
accustomed to dry their sheaves since the time of 
Rurik ; these ovéns cause a fearful waste, and have to 
be kept burning all the time. The farmers complain, 
and yet there are no drying-machines. Why is this? 
Is it not because Germany does not need them? The 
wheat there is threshed while moist; consequently 
they do not make such a machine, and we are not able 
to design it. Hereafter, whenever I meet one of these 
rough diamonds—one of these original and inventive 
geniuses—I will cry out, ‘Where is the drying-ma- 
chine?’ But they would care little for that! We are 
well able, indeed, to pick up the worn-out shoes of 


Saint-Simon or of Fourier, to put them on our heads 


Cc 
. 


140 Smoke. 


and carry them about as relics; we can even write a 
little article on the historic and contemporary value ot 
the proletariat in the chief cities of France. One day, 
however, I asked one of these writers on political 
economy, a person something like M. Vorochilof, to 
name for me twenty of these same cities, and the result 
was, that in order to make up that number, our friend 
was forced to mention Montfermeil, which he remem- 
bered, thanks to a novel of Paul de Kock. I have 
just thought of another incident. I was one day entering 
a wood with my dog and gun.” 

“You are a sportsman then ?” inquired Litvinof. 

“On a small scale. I was looking for snipe in a 
' swamp, which I was told was much visited by sports- 
men. I entered a wood which some merchants had 
bought for clearing. As is customary, they had built 
in it a little shed with a counter in front. Before the 
door there stood a clerk, as smooth and slek as a 
hazel-nut ; he was giggling all by himself.’ I ased him 
where the swamp and snipe were to be found. ‘Come 
with me,’ he said, with as joyful an expre sion as 
though I had given him a rouble; ‘this swamp is a 
fine one, and abounds in all kinds of wild birds.’ J] 
followed his directions, but found no wild birds, not 


even any swamp; it had been drained a long ame be- 


Smoke LAI 


fore. Will you be kind enough to tell me why the Rus 
sians always lie, the clerk as well as the political 
economist ?” 

Litvinof’s only answer was a sigh. 

“ Commence a conversation with the latter,” continu- 
ed Potoughine, “upon the most difficult problems of 
social science, even those where the data are few and 
uncertain, .. . prrrr! he starts off like a bird whose 
wings have just been untied. I once succeeded in 
trapping one of these birds; I used an excellent bait, 
as you will see. I was discussing with one of the young 
men of the day various questions, as they call them. 
As they usually do, he grew very excited ; among other 
things he inveighed against marriage with a truly boy- 
ish pertinacity. I submitted certain arguments to him. 
... I might as well have talked to a wall. I was final- 
ly about to close the conversation, when a happy idea 
came tome. ‘ Will you permit me to make aremark ?’ 
I said to him—with these neophytes you must always 
be respectful— you surprise me very much, sir. You 
have studied natural science, but do not seem to have 
noticed one remarkable phenomenon. All carnivorous 
and predatory animals, birds of prey and beasts of 
prey, work to obtain food for their young as well as for 


themselves . .. Now, you class man among these 


142 | Suioke. 


animals?’ ‘Certainly,’ replied the youth, ‘man is a 
carnivorous animal.’ ‘And predatory,’ I added. 
‘Predatory too,’ he said. ‘That is admitted then,’ I 
replied. ‘I am only surprised that you have never no- 
ticed that these animals all live in pairs.” The 
neophyte was completely taken aback. ‘ How is that? 
said he. ‘Judge for yourself; look at the lion, the 
wolf, the fox, the vulture. How can it be otherwise, 
if you will think a moment ; it is all that the pair, to- 


ether, can do to find nourishment for their young.’ 






Our neophyte became thoughtful. ‘In this case,’ he 
answered, ‘the animal is not a type for man.’ Then 
I called him an idealist. This so mortified him that he 
was ready to burst into tears; I had to calm him by 
___promising to say nothing about it to his companions. 
It is no small thing to merit the title of idealist! You 
see, sir, the young men of to-day are making a great 
mistake. They imagine that the time of laborious 
and obscure work is past; that it did very well for 
their fathers to dig like moles, but that this is too hu- 
miliating work for them. They must fly in the open 
air... Dear little doves! even your children can not 
be thus free from labor, and as for you, you had better 
return to your ditches and holes, and continue the 


blind work of your fathers.” 
+ > 


Smoke. 143 


There was a moment of silence. 

“ As for me, sir,” Potoughine resumed, “not only am 
I persuaded that we owe to civilization all that we 
possess of science, art and justice, but I also affirm 
that the love of the beautiful and poetry can only be 
formed and developed under the influence of this same 
civilization ; and that what is called national and spon- 
taneous development is but foolishness and absurdity. 
Even in Homer you can find traces of a luxuriant and 
refined civilization. Love itself becomes purified by 
its influence. The admirers of the Slavic race would 
gladly hang me for such a heresy, if they had not such 
tender hearts. “I will not desist, however ; and though 
Madame Kokhanoski may offer me her idyls of the 
Slave, in which his simple nature is highly exalted, 
I will not consent to inhale this triple extract of the 
Russian moujiz. I do not belong to that elevated 


circle in society which, occasionally, thinks it neces- 


sary to persuade itself that it has not really become . 


French in nature, and for the exclusive use of which 
this Russia-leather literature is composed. I repeat 
that there can be no true poetry without civilization. 
Would you like to become acquainted with the poetic 
ideals of ancient Russia? Look at our legends, 


Love is never represented in them as the result of fas 


¢ ~ 


=, 


144 Smoke, 


cination or of fate. It is drunk in ‘with the waters 


of oblivion ;’ 


its effect is compared to a dry or frozen 
land. This is our epic literature, the only one in all 
Europe or Asia which does not give us a typical pair 
ef youthful lovers. The hero of ‘holy Russia’ always 
begins his acquaintance with her for whom fate has 
destined him by, mercilessly abusing her. But I have 
said enough on this subject; I will simply call your 
attention to the picture, which ‘our youthful laureate’ 
gives of the ancient and uncivilized Slave. Here it 
is: he is wrapped in ‘a cloak of sable, pointed at every 
seam ; a sash of many-colored silk circles his form 
above the waist; his hands are hidden within his 
sleeves ; the high collar of his cloak conceals his crim- 
son face and white neck; his hat is planted on one: 
side; boots of morocco leather cover his lower limbs ; 
these boots are long and pointed at the toes, with heels 
so high, that a sparrow, with outspread wings, can fly 
beneath the foot.’ 

“This is the poetical ideal of the uncivilized Russian, 
Is it not a beautiful type? Does it offer muchgnaterial 
for the painter or the sculptor ? The young girl who 
captivates this youth, whose complexion resembles the 
blood of the hare... But it seems to me you are not 


: q ” 
listening. 


Smoke. 145 


Litvinof started. The fact was, he was not listening 
to Potoughine’s remarks. He was thinking, persistent- , 
ly thinking of Irene, and his last interview w:th her. 

“Pardon me, Sozonthe Ivanovitch,” he said; “I was 
thinking of another question which I wished to ask you 
in reference to... .” 

“To whom ?” 

“To Madame Ratmirof.” 

Potoughine folded up his paper and put it in his 
pocket. 

“You still wish to know how I became acquainted 
with her ?” 

“No, that is not it; I should like to have you give 
me an account of her life at St. Petersburg. What are 
the facts concerning it ?” 

“T really can not tell you, Gregory Mikhailovitch. 
I am very well acquainted with Madam Ratmirof, 
..... but the acquaintance was made by chance, and 
has been of short duration. I have not mingled in the 
society which surrounds her, and do not know what is 
going on within it. Some things I have heard, but, you 
know, gossip is not to be depended on, and I paid lit- 
tle attention to them. I can not help noticing,” he 
added, after a moment’s pause, “that you are deeply 


interested in her.” 


146 Smoke. 


“Yes; we have talked together twice, seemingly in 
the frankest manner. I sometimes, however, find my- 
self asking whether she is sincere.” 

Potoughine cast his eyes upon the ground. 

“When she is excited, she is sincere, like all 
women of strong passions. Sometimes, also, her pride 
keeps her from deceit.”’ 

“Is she proud? I supposed she was capricious 
rather.” 

“ As proud as Lucifer ; that is nothing, though.” 

“I have sometimes thought that she exaggerat- 
lib eae! 

‘‘That is nothing, again; she is sincere all the 
same. But where do you expect to find the truth? 
The best of these women are thoroughly corrupt.” 

“But, Sozonthe Ivanovitch, remember, did you not 
speak of her as your friend? Did you not take me 
to her almost by force ?” ; 

‘‘ What of that? She begged me to bring you to 
iner. I said to myself, ‘Why not? As to friendship, I 
really am her friend. She has some good qualities ; 
she is kind and generous; that is, she gives to others 
what she does not want herself. You ought to know 


her, though, better than I.” 


Smoke. 147 


“I knew Irene Pavlovna ten years ago; since that 


“That makes no difference, Gregory Mikhailovitch. 
Can character change? What we are in the cradle, 
that we are at the grave. Perhaps”—here Potoughine 
bent still further forward—“ perhaps you fear that you 
may be entangled in her snares? Very likely you may ; 
it is difficult to escape from such a woman.” 

Litvinof forced his face into a smile. 

“ Do you think so ?” | 

‘Tt is impossible! The man is weak, the woman 
persistent, fate is all powerful. It is not easy to enter 
upon a solitary and gloomy life ; to always continue in it 
is impossible. Here you have presented to you beauty 
and sympathy, warmth and light; how can you refuse 
the offering ? You spring toward it as a child runs to 
its nurse. Then come chill clouds of sorrow and des- 
pair, and you are whirled in a maze of uncertainty and 
doubt. At first you knew not how to love, now you 
know not how to live.” . 

Litvinof looked upon Potoughine ; it seemed to him 
that he had never seen a being so forlorn and so 
unhappy. Gloomy and pale, his head bowed upon his 
breast, his hands crossed upon his knees, he sat mo- 


tionless, with a bitter smile upon his face. Litvinof 


148 Suioke. 


felt his sympathies awakened for this poor and honest, 
but cynical and eccentric individual. 

“ Trene Pavlovna,” he said in a low voice, “ mention- 
ed among her other friends, one whose name, if I 
remember rightly, was Belsky or Dolsky. .. .” 

Potoughine fixed upon Litvinof a gloomy look. 

“Ah!” said he in a low voice, “she mentioned 
..... Well! that is right. But I must go back to 
the house .... to dinner,” he added, with a yawn. 
“¢ Good-by.” 

He rose from the bench and rapidly strode away, 
before Litvinof could utter a word. The compassion 
which he had fe't now changed to anger—anger against 
himself, be it understood. He greatly disliked to 
wound the feelings of another person; he had desired 
to express his sympathy for Potoughine, and, instead, 
had made a most unfortunate allusion. He returned 
to his hotel with a secret discontent at heart. 

“She is thoroughly corrupt,” he kept repeating to 
AMS CLigha te pets “ She is as proud as Lucifer! What! 
this woman who almost threw herself at my feet! 
Can she be proud? Proud and not capricious ?” 

Litvinof tried, without success, to drive from his 
mind the image of Irene; he tried to think of his be- 


trothed, but all in vain. He at last determined to await 


Smoke. T49 


the conclusion of this “strange story.” The end must 
come soon; and Litvinof did not doubt but that he 
would in some way be extricated from his difficulties. 
Yet the image of Irene would not leave him, and every 
one of her words returned persistently to his mind. 

The waiter brought him a note, which read as fol- 
lows : 

“Tf you have nothing to do this evening, come to see 
me. Ishallnot be alone; there will be company with me, 
and you can gain a better idea of the circle in which I 
move. I desire very much that you should be present, 
as I expect there will be an unusual display. You must 
become more familiar with the atmosphere in which I 
live. Come; I shall be glad to see you, and I think 
you will pass a pleasant evening. Prove to me that our 
explanation of to-day has rendered impossible any fur- 
ther misunderstanding. 

“Your devoted friend, be 

Litvinof changed his coat, put on a white cravat, 
and started out in answer to this invitation. ‘“ There 
is no harm in this,” he kept saying to himself, as he 
walked along. ‘‘ Why not become better acquainted 
with these people? It will be interesting.’”? A few 
days before, it was a feeling of dislike rather than of 


interest that he had entertained toward them. 


He was walking with hurried steps, his hat drawn 


Iso Swt0ke. 


over his eyes, and a constrained smile upon his lips. 
Bambaef, who was seated before the Café Weber, 
pointed him out to Vorochilof and Pichtchalkin, and 
solemnly éxclaimed, 

‘Do you see that man? He isaman of stone! he 


is as firm as granite !” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Litvinof found a numerous company assembled in 
the apartments of Irene. In one corner were seated 
before a whist table three officers of the picnic party: 
the stout, the irritable and the polite. They were 
playing whist with a dummy, and language can not ex- 
press the gravity which they displayed in dealing the 
cards, taking up the tricks, or leading out their clubs 
and diamonds. They were real statesmen; they left to 
the common people all those little pleasantries which 
ordinarily accompany a game of cards. These gentle- 
manly officers spoke only in dignified terms, with the 
exception of the stout one, who once between deals 
cried out, “That devilish ace of spades !”? Among the 
ladies, Litvinof recognized those who had been present 
at the picnic; but besides these there were others 
whom he had never before seen. There was one wo- 
man so old that she caused a constant feeling of 
apprehension among those looking at her, lest she 
should at any moment crumble into dust. Her shoul- 


ders were bare and bore a horrible resemblance to those 


152 Smoke. 


of acorpse. Holding her fan before her face, she was" 
casting languishing glances upon Ratmirof, from eyes 
that looked like those of the dead. Ratmirof paid 
her every attention; she was highly esteemed in the 
fashionable world, because she had been the last lady 
of honor to the Empress Catharine.’ At the window, 
in a shepherdess’s costume, was seated Countess 
Ch 


circle of young men, among whom was the well-known 





“the queen of the wasps,” surrounded by a 


millionaire, the handsome Finikof, who could be readily 
distinguished by his arrogant manner, his flat skull, 
and the brutal expression of a2 countenance worthy of 
Heliogabalus or a khan of Bokhara., Another lady, 
also a countess, commonly known by the name of Lise, 
was conversing with a spiritual medium who had a pale 
face and long, light hair. By his side, stood another 
gentleman, who seemed his counterpart; he was smil- 
ing and had an air of importance about him. Besides 
being a medium, he possessed the gift of prophecy, 
and interpreted with equal facility the Apocalypse and 
the Talmud.. None of his predictions were ever re 
alized, but this did not trouble him at all; he continued 
to prophesy just the same. 

At the piano was seated the rough diamond, who had 


so exasperated Potoughine; he was striking chord after 


’ 


Smoke. ise: 


chord in a careless manner, looking meanwhile about 
the room. Irene was seated on a divan between Prince 


Coco and Madam X » an ex-belle and literary 





character, noted for being as pious as once she was 
wicked : the holy oil had now somewhat diluted the old 
poison. On seeing Litvinof, Irene blushed, rose and, 
as he drew near her, shook him hurriedly by the hand. 
Her dress was of black crape sprinkled with threads of 
gold, and displayed to good advantage the snowy 
whiteness of her skin. Her face shone with resplen- 
_dent beauty, which was enhanced by a secret, almost 
exultant joy, sparkling in her half-closed eyes and 
playing about her rosy lips. 

| Ratmirof approached Litvinof and, after exchanging 
with him a few commonplaces which did not seem to 
bear the imprint of his usual good nature, presented 
him to the old ruin, the queen of the wasps and Coun- 
tess Lise. They greeted him with great politeness. 


Litvinof did not belong to their circle, but he made a 


vood impression; his expressive features and his - 


youthful looks attracted their attention. He did not, 


however, know how to take advantage of this gracious 
reception; he was not accustomed to society, and was 
ill at ease, more especially as he felt constantly fixed 


upon him the insulting stare of the stout officer, 


154 Smoke. 


“Ah! low fellow—free thinker :” this stare seemed te 


say, “so you have wormed yourself inamong us! Must 
we give you our hands to kiss?” Irene came to Lit- 
vinof’s relief. She managed so adroitly that he found 
himself shut off in a corner of the room near the door, 
just behind the chair in which she was sitting. In 
speaking to him she had to turn her head, and each 
time that she leaned toward him, he was dazzled by the 
graceful contour of her snowy neck, and thrilled by 
the faint fragrance Of her hair. Irene’s face wore a 
calm but grateful expression. He could not be mis- 
taken; it was gratitude to him that he saw there, and 
he felt himself trembling with happiness and ‘delight. 
Her eyes seemed constantly to ask him, “ What do 
you think of my friends?” Litvinof more particularly 
noticed this whenever any of the company said or did 
some silly thing, which happened more than once in the 
course of the evening. On one occasion, she could‘not 
control herself at all, but broke out in a hearty peal of 
laughter. 

Countess Lise, being very superstitious and hav- 
ing great faith in the marvelous, after having talked 
for a long time with the pale medium about Home, that 


subject being at length exhausted, asked him if there 


Smoke. 155 


were any animals that could be brought under the in: 
fluence of magnetism. 

“ T know of one at least,” cried Prince Coco from the 
other end of the room. “You know Milvanosky ? 
He was put to sleep before me, and in a second he was 
Shoring’: . . he, he!’ 

“You are very sarcastic, Prince; I was speaking of 
animals, of beasts.” 

“J was also speaking, madam, of a beast.” 

‘“’ There are some so influenced,” answered the me- 
dium; “lobsters, for instance: they are easily acted 
on by the magnetic fluid.” 

The countess manifested great surprise. 

* What! lobsters! is it possible? How strange ! 
I should like very much to see it. Monsieur Loujine,” 
she added, turning toward a young man with a doll’s 
face and a collar as stiff as a board, (he was very 
proud of having moistened these collars in the spray 
of the Falls of Niagara and of the Nile, but remem- 
bered nothing else of all his travels, and seemed fond 
of nothing but Russian puns ;) “ Monsieur Loujine, will 
you be so kind as to order a lobster for us ?” 

M. Loujine bowed. 

Do you wish it brought in guick or quickly 2” 


The countess did not understand. 


156 Smoke. 


“A lobster,” she repeated, ‘“‘a lobsier.”’ 

“What is a lobster ?” ina harsh tone, asked Countess 
Ch, | : 

The absence of M. Verdier irritated her; she could 
not understand why Irene had not invited this most 
charming of French gentlemen. The old ruin, who for 
a long time had understood nothing of what was go- 
ing on (she had the advantage of being deaf), also shook 
her head in a disapproving manner. 

“Oh! you: will understand. Monsieur Loujine, 1 
FequestedsyOllc 8. 4.57? 

The young traveler bowed, went out and soon return- 
ed, followed by a waiter, who, ‘with a suspiciously 
solemn face, brought in an immense lobster on a 
platter. 

“ Here it is, madam,” said Loujine; “now we can 
proceed with the operation for cancer. Ha! ha! ha!” 
(Russians are always the first to laugh at their own 
jokes.) 

“He! he! he!” answered Prince Coco, in his char- 
acter of patriot and patron of home productions. 

We must here beg the reader to forgive us. Who 


can say, but that in the Alexandra Theatre he may 


sometimes have applauded a worse pun? 


Smoke. 15? 


“Thank you! thank you!” said the countess, 
** Now, M. Fox, we are ready.” 
The waiter placed the platter on a small round table. 


There was a murmur of expectation throughout the . 
room; all heads were anxiously bent forward except: 


ing those of the officers at the whist table, who still 
retained their usual dignified and solemn air. The 
medium ran his fingers through his hair, frowned and, 
approaching the table, began to. make passes in the air 
before him. The lobster stirred, and opened and shut 
its claws; the medium made quicker passes, the lobster 
continued the same movements as before. 

“What ought it to do?” asked the countess, 

“Tt ought to rest quietly and raise itself upon its 
tail,” replied M. Fox, with an American accent, moving 
his hands rapidly over the platter. The fluid, however, 
did not seem to act: the lobster continued to claw 
about. The medium declared that he was not in proper 
condition and moved from the table with a disappoint- 
ed air. The countess endeavored to console him, tell- 
ing him that even M. Home was not always successful. 
Prince Coco at once confirmed what she said.. The 
amateur in the Apocalypse and Talmud stealthily ap- 


proached the'table, and tried his fortune, making sever- 


158 Smoke. 


al quick passes over the lobster, but without success ; 
it would not be put to sleep. 

The waiter was called and took the lobster out, 
snickering as he left the room. In the kitchen also 
there was a loud laugh wder diese Russen. 

The rough diamond had continued to strike his 
chords during the whole of this performance, confining 
himself, however, to the minor keys... . the nerves 
of the crustacea might be subject to this charm, he 
thought. He now played his one eternal waltz, ‘and, 
of course, was warmly applauded. Stung with envy, 
Count X——, our incomparable dilettante, (see the 
first chapter,) sang a song of his own composition, bor- 
rowed entirely from Offenbach. The sportive refrain : 
“Quel euf! quel beuf /” caused all the ladies to move 
their heads in time with the music; one of them lightly ~ 
applauded with her hands, and from every mouth was 
heard the inevitable, “ How beautiful!” Irene exchang- 
ed glances with Litvinof, and an expression of irony 
passed over her face. A moment afterward this expres- 
sion became still more marked, and was even tinged 
with something like malicious pleasure, when Prince 
Coco, the representative and defender of the interests 
of the nobility, began to explain his opinions to the 


medium, and naturally seized the opportunity to intro- 


Smoke. 159 


duce his celebrated phrase on the overthrow of the 
rights of the property holder in Russia. The American 
blood of the medium boiled in his veins ; he immediate- 
ly began an excited discussion. The Prince, as usual, 
tried to drown his adversary’s voice, constantly shout- 
ing, “ That is absurd! That is not common sense !” in- 
stead of arguing the question. The rich Finikof made 
several silly speeches, without himself understanding 
what he said; the Talmudist whined ; even Gountess 
Ch——- threw herself into the midst of the strife. 
The confusion and discord was almost equal to that 
which Litvinof had witnessed in Goubaref’s room, the 
main difference being that here there was no tobacco 
smoke or \beer, and the company were more richly 
dressed. Ratmirof endeavored to restore order, (the 
officers were exhibiting their dissatisfaction, Boris re- 
marking, “ Those devilish politics again !”), He did 
not succeed, however, and a statesman of moderate 


views, who was present, was requested to review the 


whole question in a few words. He endeavored to do 


so, but met with little success. The truth was, he 
so stumbled and stammered, so failed to seize the ar- 
guments, and so permitted every one to see that he did 
not understand the question that no other result could 


have been expected. Irene now began to fan the flame 


\ 


¥60 Smoke, 


' and to excite each party against the other, at the-same 
time looking at Litvinof with an amused expression. 
Litvinof seemed under the influence of a charm: he 
paid no attention to what was passing around him, and 
seemed only waiting for those glorious eyes to gaze 
into his own, and for that beautiful, brilliant and allur- 
ing face to turn toward him. Finally, the ladies de- 
manded that the discussion should cease. Ratmirof 
requested the dilettante to repeat his song; then the 
rough diamond played his waltz again. 

Litvinof remained till midnight, lingering tile every 
one else had gone. The conversation during the eve- 
ning had touched upon a great variety of subjects, 
always, however, avoiding every thing that was of real 
importance. After finishing their stately game, the 
officers mingled with the company, and the influence of 
these statesmen could at once be seen. They began by 
speaking of the chief celebrities of the demt-mondle, 
whose names and accomplishments seemed well known 
to all; they then referred to Sardou’s last play, to 
About’s story, and criticised Patti’s singing in 7ravda- 
fa. The stout officer stated that once when asked.-the 
question, “‘ What is love?” he had answered, ‘A colic 
of the heart,” and immediately burst into a harsh laugh. 


The old ruin tapped him on the hand with her fan, 


| Smoke, LOL 


and by this unwonted display of energy, knocked off 
from her forehead a piece of the plaster with which 
her face was covered. The literary lady named over 
the various Slavic tribes, and spoke of the necessity 
of establishing the orthodox religion on. the Danube ; 
but she received no encouragement to continue’ her 
remarks. They talked of Home more willingly than of 
any other subject; the queen of the wasps even conde- 
scended to tell a story of how she had seen spirit 
hands suddenly appear upon her lap, and how she had 
placed her ring on one of them. Irene easily secured 
Litvinof’s attention; for, even if he had been more 
disposed to notice what was taking place about him, he 
could not have selected from all this confused talk one 
sincere word, one worthy thought, or one new fact. 
Even their shouts and violent exclamations did not 
seem sincere; there was no depth of feeling even in 
their calumnies. While groaning over the sad destiny 
of their country, they were really sorry only on account 
of the probable reduction of their own incomes ; feat 
for their own safety had taken hold upon them, and the 
mention of names which will be remembered by pos- 
terity, caused them to grind their teeth with rage, 
What paltry desires and vain trifles influenced all these 


people! and influenced them not alone during this 


162 Smoke. 


evening and in this society, but at their homes, every 
day and every hour! "What perfect ignorance they 
displayed of every thing that is true and noble! 

On taking leave of Litvinof, Irene pressed his hand 
again, while she whispered in his ear in a confidentia 
tone, 

“ Are you satisfied ? Are you pleased with what you 
have seen to-night?” 

He did not answer, but silently bowed and went away. 

Left alone with her husband, Irene was moving to- 
ward her room, when he motioned her to stay. 

“T greatly admired you this evening, madam,” he 
said, as he leaned against the mantelpiece, smoking a 
cigarette ; “‘ you made fine sport of us.” 

” 


“ No more so than I always do, 


“What am I to understand by that?” asked Rat 


she quietly replied. 


mirof. 

“¢ Whatever you please.” 

“Hum! that is plain enough.” 

Ratmirof carefully knocked off the ashes of his ciga- 
rette with the end of his little finger. 

“By the way, your new acquaintance, what is. his 
name? .... M. Litvinof? I suppose he has the re 


putation of being a man of great intelligence.” 


Smoke. 163 


Ai the name of Litvinof, Irene turned quickly round. 

*“What do,you mean ?” 

The General smiled. 

“He is always so quiet .... It looks as though he 
were afraid of compromising himself by speaking.” 

Irene smiled now, but in a very different manner from 
her husband. - - 

“Tt is better to say nothing than to talk as some 
men do.” | 

“Good !” answered Ratmirof, with feigned good- 
nature. “Joking aside, though, he has a very interest- 
ing face, a thoughtful expression, and a general 
BUIPCATANICO Sno ss ss ” Ratmirof stopped to arrange 
his cravat. “I presume he is a Republican like your 
other friend M. Potoughine; he is another mute 
genius.” 

Irene’s brows were slowly raised, her large eyes 
shone fiercely, her lips were tightly drawn together. 

“¢ Why do you talk so, Valerien Vladimirovitch ?” she 
said in a tone of pretended pity. “ You are only beating 
the air... . Weare not in Russia, and no one is lis- 
tening to you.” 

Ratmirof lost his temper in spite of himself. 


“T am not the only one, Irene Pavlovna,” he an 


164 Smoke. 


swered in a hollow voice, “I am not the only one that 


thinks this gentleman a Carbonaro.” 

“Indeed ! What others think so?” 

SOBOLissOLOne. < fhe 

‘What! has he considered it necessary to express 
his opinion ?” 

Irene’s form shook as though from cold; she began 
stroking her shoulder with her finger tips. 

“Ves, he has. . . . But permit me to observe, Irene 
Pavlovna, that you are angry, and when you are angry, 
VOUKROW 50. 2 
“T, angry ? at what ?” ; 

“T do not know; perhaps you were displeased with 
the remark that I made in reference to .. .” 

Ratmirof stopped. 

“In reference to whom?” imperatively demanded 
Irene. “Quick, answer me! I am tired and want to 
get to sleep.” 

She took up a light that stood upon the table. 

‘‘ In reference to whom ?” she repeated. 

“Why, in reference to M. Litvinof. I can now no 
longer doubt that you are greatly interested in him . .” 
Irene raised her hand until the light which she held 


shone full in her husband’s face; she looked him in 


Smoke. 165 


the eyes attentively and curiously, and then suddenly 
beyan to laugh aloud. 

“What do you mean ?” asked Ratmirof with a frown, 
* ‘What do you mean ?” he repeated, stamping his foot, 
He felt that he had been insulted and humiliated, but 
the beauty of this woman standing before him, with 
such an air of easy confidence, dazzled while it pained 
him. Not one of her charms escaped his observation ; 
even to the rosy reflection of her taper fingers in the 
dark bronze of the lamp which she held. He noticed 
even this reflection .... and the insult sank still 
deeper in his breast. 

Irene continued to laugh. 

“What! you! you are jealous?” she cried at last ; 
and turning her back on her husband, she left the room. 
“ He is jealous !” he heard her say again, after the door 
had closed, with a fresh burst of mocking laughter. 

Ratmirof watched his wife disappear, with a gloomy 
look. He could not help noticing the perfect symmetry 
of her form, the seductive grace of every motion. He 
knocked the fire from his cigarette, by striking it against 
the marble mantel, and threw it angrily across the room. 
His cheeks paled, his face twitched nervously, his eyes 
glared about the room in a wild and brutal manner; it 


seemed as though they were seeking for something on 


166 Smoke. 


which to wreak revenge. All traces of refinement had 
left his face; he must have looked like this when 
flogging the peasants of White Russia. 
_ Meanwhile Litvinof had returned to his room; seat- 
ed in a chair before his table, and resting his head 
upon his hands, he remained for a long time motionless. 
At last he rose, took a portfolio from his trunk and 
drew from it a picture of Tatiana. Photography makes 
almost any face look old and ugly, and that of Ta- 
tiana now seemed gazing sorrowfully upon him. 

Litvinof’s betrothed was a young girl of pure Russian 
blood, with fair complexion and well rounded face and 
form; her features were somewhat large, perhaps, but 
were lighted by a peculiarly frank and kind expression , 
her eyes were of a clear brown hue, and a gleam of 
sunshine seemed always resting on her pure white 
brow. 

Litvinof remained fcr a long time with his eyes fixed 
upon the picture, but at last he pushed it from him and 
again buried his head in his hands. “It is all ovér!” 


he murmured. “Irene! Irene!” He now knew that 


- he loved Irene passionately, desperately ; that he had 


loved her from the time of their meeting at the Old 
Castle, that from that moment he had not ceased to 


think of her. How surprised, how incredulous he would 


Smoke. 167 


have been, how he would have smiled, indeed, if any 
one had predicted this a few short hours before. 

“But Tatiana, Tatiana! . . God help me!” he cried 
in agony. 

And still the image of Irene, robed in her dark and 
gloomy dress, but with a face white as marble and 
resplendent with the calm consciousness of victory, 


remained constantly before him. 


CHAP TE Rates 


Litvinof did not sleep at all that night; he did not 
even take off his clothes. The air seemed close and al- 
most suffocating to him. As an honorable man, he ful- 
ly appreciated the value of truth and the sacredness ot 
duty, and was ashamed to attempt to deceive himself, 
or to try to excuse his weakness and wrong-doing. At 
first he fell into a kind of stupor; for a long time he 
was weighed down by some undefined but painful feel- 
ing ; then he was seized with terror at the thought that 
his future which had seemed so bright was now covered 
with dark clouds, that the plans which he had formed 
were already crumbling. He began to pitilessly upbraid 
himself ; but soon his feelings changed again. “ How 
cowardly I am!’ said he. ‘It is no time to reproach 
myself; I must act. Tatiana is my betrothed ; she con- 
fides implicitly in my honor; we have promised to love 
each other forever ; nothing can, nothing shall divide us.” 
He recited to himself all Tatiana’s virtues, and repeat- 
ed them over one by one; he tried to arouse sorrow 


and contrition in his heart. “There is but one thing 


Smoke. 169 


for me to do,” he thought: “to fly, fly at once, without 
awaiting her arrival, to intercept her before she reaches 
Baden. Shall I be unhappy with Tatiana? I do not 
think so; at all events, I must not question, must not 
even think of this. I will do my duty though I die for 
it!” “ But you have no right to deceive her,” another 
voice seemed to say, “ you have no right to conceal from 
her the change that has taken place in your heart; if 
she knew that you loved another, she would perhaps 
not wish to become your wife.” “It is not true,” he 
answered, “it is only a temptation to shameless decep- 
tion and bad faith ; I have no right to break my promise, 
none at all! But must I go, without seeing Irene 
PATI OS cho, gigas, 

It seemed to Litvinof that his heart would break ; a 
cold shudder ran over him; his body was like ice, his 
teeth were chattering ; he remained for a moment with- 
out strength or motion. At last turning from this 
thought, striving, as it were, to strangle it, he asked 
himself how it happened that he could again be fascina- 
ted by a woman so worldly and corrupt, and surrounded 
as she was by those who were so repugnant to him, 
“Can it be really true ?” he asked himself. His only 
answer was a gesture of despair. 


And while these thoughts were passing through his 


17C Smoke. 


mind, suddenly that charming face appeared as in a cloud 
to his enraptured vision; he saw again those beaming 
eyes shooting from beneath their dark and silky lashes, 
burning and triumphant glances ; again those graceful, 
queenly shoulders rose before him from out the fragrant 
and mysterious shadows which surrounded them... . 

Finally, when morning came, Litvinof had formed a 
resolution. He decided that he would go that very day 
to Tatiana. and ina last interview with Irene, would tell 
her the whole truth, if she required it, then bid her fare- 
well forever. 

He packed every thing, waited till noon, then started 
out to call upon Irene. | 

But when he saw her half-closed blinds, his courage 
failed him ; he could not make up his mind to enter the 
hotel, and strolled into the 4//ée Lichtenthal. 

“‘T have the honor of presenting my regards to M. 
Litvinof,” suddenly cried, ina mocking tone, a voice 
which seemed familiar to him. 

Litvinof looked up and saw General Ratmirof 
perched on top of a stylish dog-cart by the side 
of Prince M..., a well-known sporting character. 
The prince was driving; the. general was leaning to- 
_ ward Litvinof, and was slowly and politely raising his 


hat. Litvinof returned his bow, and an instantafter, ag 


Smoke. 171] 


though obeying some mysterious mandate, walked has- 
tily toward Irene’s hotel. 

She was at home. He gave his name and was receiv- 
edat once. When he entered, she was standing in the 
centre of the room. She had on a morning dress with 
large and flowing sleeves ; her pale face betrayed a want 
of sleep. She held out her hand, and looked upon him 
with a gracious but abstracted glance. 

“Thanks for coming so soon,” she said in a wearied 
tone, as she dropped into an arm-chair standing near. 
“‘T am not very well to-day; I passed asleepless night. 
How were you pleased last evening ? Was I not right ?” 

Litvinof took a seat. 

‘“‘T have come, Irene Pavlovna,” he began... 

’ She started and gazed attentively at Litvinof. 

“What has happened to you?” she cried. “ Youare 
as pale as death. Are you sick? What has haps 
pened fe 

Litvinof was confused. 

“Can you ask what has happened, Irene Pavlovna ?” 

“ Have you received bad news? Something has hap- » 
pened ; will you not tell me?” | 

Litvinof, in turn, looked upon Irene. : 

“] have received no news,” he answered, after a mo- 


ment’s struggle; “but a misfortune has come upon me, a 


172 Smoke. 


great misfortune .... and that is what has brought 
me here.” 


‘A misfortune ? What can it be ?” 


Litvinof endeavored to say more, but it was impossi- 
ble. His hands were clenched so tightly that the nails 
seemed piercing through the flesh. Irene leaned for- 
ward in breathless expectation. 

“ Oh! I love you!” suddenly cried Litvinof with a 
groan, as though the words were torn violently from 
him. | 

He turned away and hid his face 

“What, Gregory Mikhailovitth.... you...” 
Irene stopped and, resting against the back of her 
chair, buried her burning face in her hands. 
peau... Jove. met” 

Ves... yes +. s yes !? he repeated in. a hoarse 
voice, turning his face more and more away from 
her. 

There was a deathly stillness in the room, broken 
only by the flutterings of a butterfly, caught between the 
curtain and the window-pane. Litvinof was the first to 
speak. 

‘‘This, Irene Pavlovna, this is the misfortune which 


has come upon me, which I might have foreseen and 


Smoke. 173 


avoided, if I had not been caught by a rushing tor- 
rent, as I was at Moscow. It seems my fate to suffer 
again, through you, those torments which I thought 
could never be renewed. ... I have striven against 
this passion again and again; but it is impossible to 
conquer fate. I tell you this, in order more quickly to 
end this .... this tragi-comedy!” He uttered these 
last words with a fresh outburst of anger and of 
shame. 

Litvinof ceased speaking. The butterfly was still 
beating its wings against the window-pane ; Irene’s face 
was still hidden in her hands. 

“Are you not deceiving me?” .... These words 
were spoken through fingers as ghostly white as 
though every drop of blood had left them. 

* T am not deceiving myself,” answered Litvinof ina 
sad tone. ‘I love you as I never loved before. I will 
not reproach you, that would be absurd; I will not even 
say that this, perhaps, might not have happened, if you 
had acted in a different manner toward me. . . . Doubt- 
less, I alone have been to blame—-my own imprudence 
has been my ruin, and I am justly punished ; Aoubtless, 
you could not have foreseen this, you could not have 
known that I should have been much less in Canger, if 


you had not accused yourself of wrong, and expressed 


174 Smoke. 


your desire to make amends. ... But why should 
I recall the past? I have only to make known to you 
my present position—that surely is sufficiently painful. 
There can now exist between us no misunderstand- 
ings—as you have said—and I hope that the very 
frankness of my confession will somewhat diminish the 
annoyance which you must feel.” 

Litvinof still spoke with his eyes cast down; if he 
had looked upon Irene, he could not have seen her face, 
for she kept it hidden in her hands. The emotions 
which that face betrayed would probably have startled 
him: there were imprinted upon it terror and joy, a 
strange composure and an agitation which was stranger 
still. Her eyes were partly hidden beneath their half- 
closed lids, and her breath seemed tremulously to come 
and go between her motionless and pallid lips. 

Litvinof was silent awaiting areply. “I have now 
only to say farewell,” he said at last. 

Irene let her hands fall slowly down. 

“ But, if I remember rightly, Gregory Mikhailovitch, 
that. ... that person of whom you spoke to me, 
is coming soon to meet you here ?” 

“Yes ; but I will write to her. ... She can stop 
somewhere on the way,.... at Heidelberg, for in: 


stance,” 





Smoke. 175 


“Ah! at Heidelberg... yes... that would an: 
swer very well. But this will interfere with your 
plans. Are you sure, Gregory Mikhailovitch, that you 
are not mistaken, that this is not'a false alarm ?” 

Irene spoke calmly, almost coldly, pausing slightly be- 
tween each word, and turning her face away from him. 

Litvinof did not answer her. 

“'Why do you speak of annoying me?” she contin- 
ued ; “I do not feel injured. Notatall! If either of us 
is at fault, it is not you; or, at all events, not you alone. 
... Think of our talks together, and you will see 
that you are not to blame.” 

“T never doubted your generosity,” said Litvinof 
with compressed lips, “ but I should like to know if you 
approve of my decision.” 

“To go away 2” 

ves,” 

Irene was still looking away from him. 

“ At first your decision seemed too precipitate. . . 
Now that I have thought on what you told me; ... if 
you are sure that you are not mistaken, I suppose it will 
be best for you to go. It will be better .. . for us 
botk.”’ 

Irene’s words became fainter and fainter as she 


spoke. 


176 Smoke. 


“ True, General Ratmirof might notice .... ” Lite 
‘vinof began to say. 

Irene cast down her eyes ; astrange trembling appear: 
ed about her mouth—appeared, then quickly passed away 
again. 

*¢ No, you do not understand me,” she interposed. “1 
was not thinking of my husband—why should I? He 
has noticed nothing. Nevertheless, I think that we 
had better part.” 

Litvinof picked up his hat, which had fallen on the 
floor. | 

“ This is all,” he thought, “ now I must go.” “I have 
only to take leave of you, Irene Pavlovna,” he said aloud, 
while his heart ceased beating fora moment. “I can 
only hope that you will not retain too unpleasant an im- 
pression of me; and thatifever.... ” Againhe was 
compelled to stop. 

‘Wait, Gregory Mikhailovitch, do not yet bid me 
farewell ; it is too unexpected.” 

Litvinof for a moment felt a thrill of joy, but immedi- 
ately after a bitter sadness filled his heart. 

**Tcan not remain,” he cried. ‘* Why should I prolong 
this torment?” 

‘Do not yet bid me farewell,” Irene repeated. ‘1 


must see youonce more. . . . Another silent separa- 


Smoke. 177 


tion as at Moscow? .. . . No, I can not consent to it. 
You now may leave me, but give me your word of honor 
that you will call again before you go away from Ba- 
den.” 

“ Do you really wish it ?” 

“TI demand it. If you go away without seeing me, I 
will never, never forgive you. How strange this seems !” 
she added, as though speaking to herself. ‘I can not 
believe that Iam here in Baden .... I seem to be at 
Moscow... . . . Now you must leave me.” 

Litvinof rose. 

“ Trene Pavlovna,” he said, “ give me your hand.” 

Irene shook her head. 

“I told you I did not wish to say farewell... ” 

“‘T do not so intend it.” 

Irene held out her hand toward him but, upon look- 
ingat him... . for the first time since the avowal of 
his love, she hastily drew it back. 

“ No, no,” she murmured, “T will not. No, no.” 

Litvinof bowed and left the room. He could not un- 
derstand why Irene had refused his hand at parting, nor 
why she had so suddenly changed her mind. As he 


disappeared, Irene sank into her chair again, and cover- 


ed her face with both her hands. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Litvinof did not return to his room ; he went into the 
mountains, and penetrating a dense and tangled thicket, 
threw himself down with his face toward the ground, 
and remained thus motionless for nearly an hour. He 
did not moan nor weep; a dull lethargy had seized upon 
him. He had never before felt such a painful and into- 
lerable sense of the vanity of life. He did not think ot 
Irene nor of Tatiana. He had but one feeling: the ax 
had fallen, the cable by which he had been moored was 
parted, and he was being. borne away by some cold, 
mysterious current. Sometimes a whirlpool seemed 
engulfing him, and he seemed tossing and turning in its 
GapkeVOLtex. (20-6 
! In the midst of all, however, his determination re- 
mained unshaken. He never once hesitated as to leav- 
ing Baden. Already,in thought, he was seated in the 
train, rushing on with lightning speed toward a barren 
and desolate land. He rose at last, and resting against 
a tree, stood lost in thought, with one hand mechanically 


swaying a long fern which was growing at his side. 


Smoke. 179 


The sound of approaching footsteps roused him from 
his revery ; two wood-cutters with enormous loads upon 
their shoulders were descending the steep path. 

“It is time to act,” he muttered. 

He followed the wood-cutters down the path, went to 
the railway station and senta telegram to Tatiana’s aunt, 
Capitoline Markovna. It informed her of his immediate 
departure, and requested her to meet him at the Schra- 
der Hotel in Heidelberg. 

“Tf it must be done,” he thought, “I will act quick- 
ly, and not wait until to-morrow.” 

He then passed into the gambling-hall, cast a dull 
glance upon the players, noticed in the distance the 
ugly head of Bindasof and the solemn countenance of 
Pichtchalkin, and after resting a moment in the portico, 
walked leisurely toward Irene’s hotel. It was not a 
sudden impulse which led him there: having deters 
mined to go away, he had also resolved to keep his pro- 
mise, to see her once again and say farewell forever. 
He entered the hotel witltout being seen by the porter, 
ascended the stairs, meeting no one on the way, pushed 
open the doorand, without knocking, entered the room. 
Irene was seated as he had left her, in the same chair, 
the same dress and the same position. It was very 


evident that she had not moved during all this time. 


180 Smoke. 


She slowly raised her head and, seeing Litvinof, started 
and nervously grasped the arm of her chair. / peg 

“You frightened me,” she said. ee 

Litvinof gazed upon her in mute surprise. He was 
struck by the expression of her face and by the appear- 
ance of her eyes which were swollen and dimmed with . 
tears. Irene, with a painful smile, began to arrange her 
hair, which had fallen in disorder about her face. 

“ How long have I been here?” sheasked. “I must 
have fallen asleep.” 

“Excuse me, Irene Pavlovna,” said Litvinof, aH I 
have come in unannounced ..... I wished to ful- 
fill my promise to you. As I am going away to- 
Meneses + 
4 To-night? But you told me that you would first 
writesaletter, 20040.” 

“J. have sent a telegram instead.” 

“Ah! you are in haste. .... When do you leave ? 
I mean at what hour ?” 

“‘ At seven o’clock.” 

“ At seven? Have you come now to say fare- 
wel] >” 

“Yes, Irene Pavlovna.” 

Irene was silent for a moment. 


“T ought to thank you, Gregory Mikhailovitch,” at 


Smoke. 181 


last she said; “it probably was painful for you to re- 
turn again.” 

“ It was painful, Irene Pavlovna.” 

“ Life always has its trials, Gregory Mikhailovitch ; 
do you not think so ?” | 

“* Perhaps so, Irene Pavlovna.” 

Irene was again silent; she seemed lost in thought. 

“ You have given proof of your friendship by return- 
ing,” she said at last. “I thank you. I approve of 
your desire that we should separate as soon as possible 
beeen Decauseumall? delay’../ss; because .0i00 00: be- 
cause I, whom you accuse of caprice, whom you have 
called an actress in a comedy ; I think that is what you 
PIcait- wie). = 

Irene rose suddenly and taking another chair, leaned 
forward and rested her face and hands upon the table. 

“Because I love you !” she murmured in a trembling 
voice. 

Litvinof staggered as though a dagger had pierced 
h‘s breast. Irene restlessly moved her head about, 
now hiding her face in her hands, and now resting it 
upon the table. 

“Yes, Ilove you... . and you know it.” 


“ How could I know it ?” at length asked Litvinof. 


“Now, you see, you must surely go,” continued 


182 Smoke. 


Irene. “We must not hesitate, younorl. It is dan- 
PCLOUS sit is eaterhibie: 1. .™. °. Farewell,” she added, 
quickly rising from her chair, “ farewell!” 

She moved slowly toward her room, and throwing 
back her hand, waved it toward him as though she 
would grasp his own; he stood motionless where she 
had left him, as though riveted to the floor. Again she 
said, ‘‘ Farewell, forget me!” and, without turning her 
head, disappeared within the room. 

Left alone, Litvinof could scarcely recover from his 
confusion. He succeeded at last, however, and 
running to the door which she had closed upon him, 
called her by name, again and again..... His 
hand was already on the latch, when the voice of 
General Ratmirof was heard in the vestibule of the 
hotel, 

Litvinof pulled his hat low down upon his brow, and 
quickly descended the stairs. The exquisite general 
was standing before the porter’s gate, explaining to him 
in rather poor German, that he wished to hire a carriage 
for the whole of the next day. Perceiving Litvinof, he 
vaised his hat again in a stately manner, and again pre- 
sented “his regards.” It was very evident that he was 
making sport of him; but Litvinof cared little for it. 


He returned Ratmirof’s salutation with a slight bow 
.) 4 


Smoke. 183 


hurried to his room, and sat down by his trunk which 
was already packed and locked. 

His head was whirling, his body trembling like a leaf. 
What had happened to him? Could he have foreseen 
it ? 

Yes, he had foreseen it all, improbable as it may ap- 
pear. It had come upon him like a thunderbolt, but he 
had nevertheless expected it, though he scarcely dared 
confess it to himself. Nothing, however, seemed clear 
to him. All was uncertainty and confusion ; he had, 
for the time, lost all control over his thoughts. His 
memory went back to Moscow .... there, too, 
every thing had been swept away as by a whirlwind. 
His breathing was quick and painful. A feeling of tri- 
umph, of desperate, barren triumph, oppressed and tor- 
tured him. Nothing in the world could have induced 
him to forget the words that had escaped from Irene’s 
lips. But why? These words could not change his 
fixed determination. As before, this determination 
was not shaken, but held him as firmly as the anchor 
holds the ship. Litvinof had lost control of his 
thoughts .... he was still, however, master of his 
will, and planned for himself as though he were a 
helpless stranger. He rang for the waiter, asked for 


his bill, and secured a seat in the omnibus; he burned 


184 Smoke. 


intentionally al! his vessels. “I will do my duty though 
I die for it,” he said, repeating his phrase of the night 
before. This phrase seemed particularly to please him. 
“Though I die for it,” he kept repeating, while walking 
up and down the room. Sometimes he closed his eyes 
and almost ceased to breathe, when Irene’s words re- 
turned to him, seeming to burn into his very soul. 
“One can not really love but once,” he thought ; 
“ another’s life is bound up with your own, and from it 
you can not free yourself. Love is a fatal poison burn- 
ing in the’veins. But is this so? is there no remedy? 
Happiness... . is that possible? You love her? 

yiuShel ai wshe cloves pyou cies ecmee casas 
point began a violent struggle with himself. Like 
the traveler who, in the darkness of the night, fear- 
ful of losing his way, and seeing a faint light before him 
in the distance, will not for a moment lose it from 
view, so Litvinof endeavored to concentrate all his 
faculties upon one plan. To meet Tatiana; no, (he 
trembled at this thought,) rather to arrive as soon as 
possible at Heidelberg, at the hotel which he had desig- 
nated; this was the faint and distant light to him. 
What would then happen, he did not know and did not 
care to know; this was the only course for him to take. 


“T will do my duty though I die for it,” he repeated 


Smoke. 185 


again and again as he kept looking at his watch. It 
was after six o’clock. He had not long to wait, and 
meanwhile kept walking to and fro. The sun was set: 
ting, and the western sky was glowing with a ruddy 
light. A subdued reflection of this glory came through 
the narrow windows of the room, which was filling fast 
with twilight shadows. Suddenly it seemed to Litvinof 
that the door was quickly opened and as quickly closed ; 
he turned his head and saw a woman standing near him, 
her form concealed beneath a dark, loose cloak. 

“Trene!” he cried, clasping his hands and bending 
toward her. 

She bowed her head and, stepping forward, fell upon 
his breast. 

An hour later, Litvinof was seated in his room, alone. 
His trunk stood open and empty before him ; its con- 
tents were tumbled in disorder on the flcor. On the 
table was a letter from Tatiana which he had just re- 
ceived. It informed him that, her aunt having entirely 
recovered from her sickness, they had determined to 
leave Dresden before the appointed time and, if nothing 
should happen to prevent, they would arrive the next 
day, at noon, at Baden. She added that they trusted 
he would meet them at the depot. Litvinof had already 


been to the office of the hotel and engaged apartments 


186 Smoke. 


2 


for them. The same evening he sent a short note tc 
Irene, and the next morning received the following 
reply : 

*¢ Sooner or later,” she wrote, ‘‘ this was inevitable. 
I can only repeat what I told you last night, ‘ My fate is 
in your hands, do with me as you will.’ I leave you 
perfect freedom ; only know that if you require it, I will 
leave all and follow you wherever you may go. To- 


morrow we will meet again.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Among those waiting at the depot, the next day at 
noon, was Litvinof. A few minutes before,he had met 
Irene ; she was in an open carriage with her husband, 
and another older gentleman. She saw Litvinof. The 
expression of her eyes grew dreamy as she gazed, but 
she quickly concealed her face from him with her para- 
sol. 

A great change had taken place in Litvinof since the 
day before; in every attitude and motion, in the very 
expression of his face, he felt himself another man. 

All calmness, dignity and self-respect had vanished ; 
only the ruins of his moral nature remained ; the indeli- 
ble impressions of the last few days had entirely blotted 
out the good resolutions of the past. He experienced 
a new, strange and powerful sensation, which was ex- 
ceedingly painful tohim. An evil spirit had penetrat- 
ed the sanctuary of his soul, and had silently taken pos- 
session there ; it had become his master, and he felt its 
power. Litvinof was ashamed no longer: he felt the 


rashness of despair mingled with fear. Those captured 


188 Smoke. 


in battle are familiar with this conflict of feeling; the 
thief experiences it after his first attemptin crime. Lit- 
vinof had been taken captive, his honor had been unex- 
pectedly attacked and had not proved equal to the trial. 

The train was a few minutes behind time. Litvinof’s 
anxiety grew very painful; he could not remain quiet 
fora moment; pale as a ghost, he mingled with the 
crowd, striving to hide himself from view. “ What if 
she should not come to-day,” he thought .... His 
first glance at Tatiana, and her first look on him, this 
was what he awaited with impatient dread. And after 
that? After that let what would happen! He could 
form no plan, he could no longer answer for himself. 
His oft-repeated phrase of the day before came to his 
mind: it was with such feelings that he was now wait- 
ine for Tatiana,’ 2.2". 

A long whistle was heard at last, and the train ap- 
proached with diminished speed. The crowd pushed 
forward; Litvinof followed, staggering like a drunken 
man. Already the faces of the passengers could be dis- - 
tinguished; Capitoline Markovna was waving a handker- 
chief from the window of her coach. There could be no 
further hesitation ; she had seen Litvinof, and knew that 
he had recognized her. The train stopped. Litvinof ran 


to the door and opened it. Tatiana was standing beside 


Smoke. 189 


her aunt, and with a gentle smile, gave him herhand. He 
helped them to alight, made some disconnected and 
commonplace remarks, immediately took their checks, 
put their shawls and cloaks upon his arm, and ran off to 
obtain a porter and engage a carriage for them. The 
noise and confusion which surrounded them was a great 
relief tohim. Tatiana stood quietly where he had left her, 
and, with a smiling face was calmly waiting for his hurry 
to be over. Capitoline Markovna, on the other hand, 
could not keep still a moment; she could not believe she 
was in Baden. Suddenly s’:e cried, ‘Oh! the umbrellas! 
Where are the umbrellas, Tatiana? ”—all the time forget- 
ting that she herself was carrying them safely under her 
arm. Then she was a long time saying good-by toa 
lady whose acquaintance she had made between Hei- 
delberg and Baden. This lady was no other than our 
old friend, Madame Soukhantchikof. She had gone to 
Heidelberg to have an interview with Goubaref, and had 
now just returned with her “instructions.” Capitoline 
Markovna was dressed in an _ odd-looking plaid 
cloak, and wore a round traveling-hat, shaped like a 
mushroom, which left her short, white hair exposed to 
view. 

She was of medium height and very slender ; being 


excited by the journey, she spoke in Russian, with a 


190 Smoke. 


nasal and sing-song voice. Every body was looking at 
her. 

Litvinof at last succeeded in placing her and Tatiana 
in a carriage, and took a seat opposite them. The 
driver whipped up his horses. Then questions were 
asked, hands were shaken, and smiles and compliments 
exchanged. Litvinof breathed more freely: he had 
succeeded better than he had hoped. Nothing in his 
appearance seemed to have surprised or troubled Tati- 
ana. She was still looking at him calmly and confid- 
ingly, sometimes slightly blushing, sometimes laughing 
merrily. He determined at last to look upon her bold- 
ly, not with side-glances as heretofore. As he gazed 
upon her, an involuntary pity took possession of him : 
the calm expression of that pure, confiding face created 
within him a deep remorse. ‘You have come, poor 
girl,” he thought, “you whom I have so much desired 
to see, with whom I hoped to pass the remainder of my 
life; you have come, trusting me, whileI...I1...” 
Litvinof’s head sank on his breast. Capitoline Mar- 
kovna, however, gave him no further time for painful 
thought, but began plying him with questions...... 
“What building is that with pillars in front? Where 
do they gamble? Who is that going by? Tatiana, Ta- 
tiana, look at those hoops! Who is that lady? There 


Smoke. 191 


must be a great many ladies from Paris here. Good- 
ness ! what a pretty hat! I suppose we can find every 
thing here that we could in Paris, only at a much high- 
er price. Ah! whata clever lady I met on the train! 
You know her, Gregory Mikhailovitch ; she told me 
that she met you at the house of a noted Russian gen- 
tleman. She promised to come to see us. How she 
handles the aristocrats! it is wonderful to hear her. 
Who is that gentleman with gray mustaches? The 
King of Prussia? Tatiana, Tatiana, look! there is the 
King of Prussia! No? Itis not the King of Prussia? 
It is the ambassador from the Netherlands? I did not 
understand, the wheels make so much noise. Oh! 
what beautiful trees !” 

“Yes, aunt, they are very beautiful,” remarked Tatia- 
na ; “and how bright and gay every thing looks! Does 
it not, Gregory Mikhailovitch ?” 

“Very gay ... .” he answered shortly. 

The carriage stopped at the hotel. _ Litvinof took the 
tired travelers to the rooms which he had engaged for © 
them, and promising to return in an hour, went to his 
own room. As soonas he had entered it, he was again 
overpowered by that mystic influence, from which, for 
the last few moments, he had been free. 


Irene was here the queen. Every thing recalled her 


192 Smoke. 


to his thoughts. He took from his bosom her handker- 
chief which he had hidden there, and pressed it to his 


lips, while passionate memories, like subtile poison, ran 


through his veins. He knew that his power of choice 
was gone—that he could not now turn back ; the sor- 
rowful compassion which had been aroused within him 
at the sight of Tatiana melted like snow before a fiery 
blast, and all remorse and penitence seemed dead ; even 
the necessity for further hypocrisy and deceit no longer 
revolted him. Passion had usurped the place of duty, 
law and conscience. He, who had always been so pru- 
dent and so careful, now formed no plans for the future, 
except in endeavoring to extricate himself from a posi- 
tion, the horror and absurdity of which caused him but 
little anxiety and pain; it seemed to him as though he 
were planning for another. 

An hour had scarcely passed, when a waiter brought 
him a message from the ladies ; they requested him to 
join them in the parlor. He followed their messenger 
and found them with their hats on ready for a walk. 
They both wished to profit by the fine weather, and to 
take a first glance at Baden. Capitoline Markovna, es- 
pecially, was burning with impatience, manifesting a lit- 
tle ill-humor even, on being informed that it was not 


yet time for the people of fashion to assemble before 


Smoke. 193 


the Cozversationhaus. Litvinof offered her his arm, and 
the regular promenade commenced. Tatiana walked by 
her aunt’s side, and looked about her with silent curio- 
sity. Capitoline Markovna renewed her questions. At 
the sight of the roulette-table and the dignified looking 
croupiers, whom, if she had met them elsewhere, she 
would certainly have taken for ministers ; at the sight of 
their little rakes always moving, and gathering in the 
piles of gold and silver heaped upon the green cloth, 
about. which women, both old and young, were gambling, 
Capitoline Markovna fell into a silent ecstasy. She en- 
tirely forgot that it was her duty to express her indigna- 
tion, and could not see enough of what was going on, as 
her heart beat quickly with each new call of the num- 
bers. The humming sound of the ball in the roulette-ta-_ 
ble thrilled her through and through. It was only on her 
return to the open air that she was, at last, enabled to 
speak, with a profound sigh, of games of chance as a _ 
demoralizing invention of the aristocracy. A forced 
and unpleasant smile was visible on Litvinof’s face; he 
spoke occasionally with an air of assumed ease, but 
really seemed irritated and annoyed. Once, on turning 
toward Tatiana, he nearly lost all self-possession : she 
was looking fixedly upon him and seemed endeavoring 


to read upon his face what it was that troubled him. He 


194 Smoke. 


hurriedly nodded to her, as though to assure her that all 
was well, but she still continued to look upon him with 
a wistful and wondering expression. 

Litvinof now turned away from the Conversationhats, 
and avoiding “the Russian tree,” under which he no- 
ticed two of his countrymen already stationed, entered 
the Allée Lichtenthal. Scarcely had they begun their 
walk in this direction, when in the distance he saw Irene 
walking toward him ; she was accompanied by her hus- 
band and Potoughine. Litvinof grew pale ; he did not 
change his pace however, and when they met, bowed 
without speaking. She returned his salutation coldly, 
and casting a scrutinizing glance on Tatiana, passed 
quickly on. Ratmirof politely raised his hat, while Po- 
toughine murmured a few unintelligible words. 

“Who is that lady?” asked Tatiana, speaking for 
the first time since they commenced their walk. 

‘¢‘ That is Madame Ratmirof,” answered Litvinof. 

“ A Russian ?” 

eV esr! 

“Did you become acquainted with her here ?” 

“No, I have known her for a long time.” 

“How handsome she is !” 

“Did you notice her dress?” said Capitoline Mar- 


kovna, “ The cost of her laces alone would support ten’ - 


Smoke. 195 


poor families for a year. Was that her husband with 
her ?” she added, turning toward Litvinof. 

Sl twasy ) ” 

“He must be very rich ?” 

'©T do not know, but do not think he is.” 

“ What is his rank ?” 

“He is a general.” | 

“What strange eyes she has!” said Tatiana; “so 
dreamy yet so piercing; I never saw their like be- 
fore.” 

Litvinof did not reply ; he thought he still felt the in- 
quiring gaze of Tatiana fastened upon him. He was 
mistaken ; her eyes were cast upon the ground. 

“Heavens! who is that monster ?” suddenly cried 
Capitoline Markovna, pointing to a basket-wagon, in 
which was carelessly reclining a red-haired, pug-nosed 
woman, dressed in gaudy colors, and displaying to view 
a pair of lilac ‘stockings. 

“That monster? Why that is the celebrated Mam 
zelle Cora.” 

-“ Who ?” 

“ Mamzelle Cora, a Parisian celebrity.” 

“What! that fright? Why, she is very dgly Lids 

“ That does not seem to make any difference.” 


Capitoline Markovna let her arms fall at her side 


196 Smoke. 


“Well, Baden is a strange place. Can I sit down on 
this bench? I ama little tired.” 

“Certainly ; that is what the benches are placed here 
isfor? 

“What do I know of your customs? I have heard 
that there are benches, also, on the boulevards in Paris, 
but that it is not proper to sit upon them.” | 

Litvinof did not attempt to enlighten Capitoline Mar- 
kovna on this subject. He saw that they were in the 
very spot where he had had his definite explanation 
with Irene . . . then he remembered that he had just 
noticed a small, red spot on Irene’s cheek. Capitoline 
Markovna took possession of the bench, Tatiana sat 
down beside her, and Litvinof stood near them on the 
walk. Was it his imagination, or was it really true that 
something indistinct and shadowy was gradually draw- 
ing between him and Tatiana. 

“¢ What a scarecrow !” continued Capitoline Markov- 
na, shaking her head compassionately. ‘If her dress 
were sold, it would support a hundred families instead 
of ten. Did you notice the diamonds in her red hair ? 
Diamonds in the morning ?”’ 

“ Her hair is not red,” said Litvinof; “she dyes it in | 
order to follow the fashion.” 


Capitoline made another gesture of astonishment, and 


Smoke. IG7 


then began to ponder. ‘At home, in Dresden,” 
she continued, “we have not yet descended to such 
felly. I suppose it is because we are further from 
Paris. You agree with me, Gregory Mikhailovitch, do 
you not?” 

“JT?” answered Litvinof. “ What, the devil is she 
talking about?” he thought. “I? Oh! ofcourse... 
Certainiys 6.24.77 

At this moment a measured step was heard, and Po- 
toughine approached the bench. 

Litvinof immediately seized him by the hand. 

“ Good-day, good-day, Sozonthe Ivanovitch, I believe 
I just met you with . . . a moment ago, I mean, on the 
promenade.” 

« Yes, I believe you did.” 

Potoughine bowed respectfully to the ladies on the 
bench. | 

“Permit me to present you to some good friends, 
relatives of mine, who have just arrived in Baden. Po- 
toughine, Sozonthe Ivanovitch, one of my countrymen, 
also a guest at Baden.” 

The two ladies bowed. Potoughine returned their 
salutation. 

“There is a regular medley here,” began Capitoline 


Markoyna, in her falsetto voice ; the excellent old lady 


198 Smoke. 


was very timid, but always made great efforts to conceal 
the fact. “ Every body seems to come here.” 

“Baden is a pleasant place,”’ answered Potoughine, 
as hecast a side glance at Tatiana; “a very pleasant 
place.” 

“Yes, but it is very aristocratic, if my opinion is cor- 
rect. We have always lived in Dresden; that is a very 
interesting city, while here there is a regular medley.” 

“The word seems to please her,” thought Potou- 
ghine. ‘ Your remark is perfectly correct,” he said, 
“but then the scenery here is grand, and the situation 
is very picturesque. Your companion must appreciate 
this. You are pleased, I think ?” he added, this time 
directly addressing Tatiana. 

Tatiana turned full upon Potoughine her gentle, lus- 
trous eyes. She seemed trying to discover why Litvin- 
of had introduced her, on the first day of her visit, to 
this stranger, whose face seemed honest and intelligent 
enough, and who was looking on her with politeness 
and attention. | 

“ Yes,” she finally said, “it is very pleasant here.” 

“You must visit the Old Castle,” continued Potou- 
ghine ; “ above all I advise you to-go to Ibourg.” 

“Saxon Switzerland...’ began Capitoline Mare 


kovna, 4 


Smoke. 199 


The sound of trumpets interrupted her; it was the 
Prussian military band from Rastadt, (in 1862 Rastadt 
was still a federal fortress,) which was beginning its 
weekly concert at the pavilion. Capitoline Markovna 
rose at once. 

“ The music,” she said, “the music at the Conversa- 
tion / Wemust go. It is four o’clock, is it not ?” 

“Ves,” answered Potoughine; “this is the hour of 
music and of fashion.” 

“We must hurry, Tatiana ; come !” 

“ Will you allow me to accompany you ?” asked Po- 
toughine, to Litvinof’s great surprise ; the thought that 
he might have been sent by Irene had never once en- 
tered his mind. 

Capitoline Markovna smiled. “ With great pleasure, 
Monsieur. .... Monsieur... «)..” 

‘“* Potoughine,” said the latter, offering her his arm. 
Litvinof gave his to Tatiana, and the two couples 
walked toward the Conversationhaus. | 

Potoughine continued talking with Capitoline Mar 
kovna, while Litvinof walked on without opening his 
lips ; twice only he smiled without any apparent 
cause, and once he feebly pressed Tatiana’s hand ; she 
did not return the pressure, and Litvinof could not but 


feel how utterly false he was. That hand-clasp did not 


200 Smoke. 


express the mutual trust of two loving hearts; he had 
wished it to take the place of those words which he 
could not utter. The mysterious cloud which had drawn 
between them seemed to become, each instant, more 
distinct. Tatiana was again looking at him with an at- 
tentive, almost searching gaze. This condition of af- 
fairs did not chaage at all, at the little table before the 
Conversationhaus, about which the four were seated ; 
except that in the midst of the crowd and the noise of 
the music, Litvinof’s silence appeared less extraordinary, 
Capitoline Markovna’s head was completely turned ; 
Potoughine found it a difficult task to answer her ques- 
tions and satisfy her curiosity. Fortunately for him, the 
thin face and staring eyes of Madame Soukhantchikof 
appeared suddenly in the crowd. Capitoline Markovna 
recognized her at once, called her to their table, made 
her sit down and immediately burst into a flood of talk. 
Potoughine turned toward Tatiana, and began to con- 
verse with her in a slow, smooth tone, looking on her 
with a gentle smile; Tatiana, to her own surprise, felt 
perfectly at ease as she answered him. It seemed a 
relief to her to talk with this gentleman, although he 
was a perfect stranger. Litvinof, during this time, re- 
mained in the same position, with the same pitiful and 


meaningless smile upon his lips. 


#. 


Smoke. 201 


At last the dinner-hour arrived, the music ceased, 
and the crowd gradually strolled away. Capitoline Mar 
kovna took leave of Madame Soukhantchikof, with 
many expressions of respect. She evidently held her 
in high esteem; afterward she told her niece that 
though she was very well informed, she thought her, 
perhaps, a little too enthusiastic. As regarded the sew- 
ing-machines, they would have to procure one immedi- 
ately after the wedding. Potoughine, also, now took 
leave of them, and Litvinof escorted the ladies back to 
the hotel. As he was entering the door, a note was 
handed to him ; he stepped aside and hurriedly tore off 
the envelope. The following words were written, in 
pencil, on a little scrap of perfumed paper: ‘Come to 
me, for one moment, this evening at seven o’clock ; 
come, I beg of you!” Litvinof thrust the note into his 
pocket and, turning round, smiled again. . . At 
whom, and why? Tatiana had turned away from him. 

They dined together at the fable d’héte. Litvinof 
sat between Capitoline Markovna and Tatiana. He 
began at once to talk ina lively strain, to tell stories, 
and pour out the wine, keeping the ladies’ glasses con- 
stantly filled. He had suddenly assumed, with strange 
vivacity, such a trifling tone that an officer of the Stras- 
burg garrison, with Napoleonic mustaches, who was 


* 


| 


202 Smoke. 


seated opposite him, thought himself privileged to take 
part in the conversation, and finally proposed a toast to 
the health of the handsome Muscovites. After dinner, 
Litvinof accompanied the ladies to their room; he re- 
mained there for a moment, standing by the window, 
with a gloomy expression on his face, then suddenly re- 
marked that he had an engagement to attend to, but 
would certainly return later in the evening. Tatiana did 
not speak, but her face grew pale and her eyes fell. 
Capitoline Markovna always took a nap immediately 
after dinner, and Tatiana knew that Litvinof was aware 
of this fact. She had hoped that he would profit by it 
and remain with her, for she had not been alone with 
him a single moment since her arrival, and there had 
been no opportunity to ask him for an explanation. 
And now he was going away! How was she to inter- 
pret this, and all that had happened during this first 
day of their reunion ? 

Litvinof hurried away without waiting for a reply; 
Capitoline Markovna lay down upon the sofa, and after 
sighing once or twice, fell into a tranquil slumber ; 
Tatiana took a chair in a corner of the room, and sat 


there motionless, with her arms crossed upon her 


-bosom. 


- 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Litvinof mounted the staircase of the Aétel de l'Eu- 
rope. AA little giri about thirteen years of age, with a 
cunning, Kalmuck face, who evidently was watching for 
him, stopped him suddenly, saying in Russian, “ Please 
step in here, Irene Pavlovna will be here in a minute.” 
He looked at her and seemed in doubt. She smiled, 
repeated the same words, ushered him into a small 
room half filled with trunks, the room opposite Irene’s, 
and disappeared, carefully closing the door behind her. 
Litvinof had scarcely time to regain his composure, 
when the same door opened suddenly and disclosed 
Irene, in a ball dress of rose-color, with pearls on her 
neck and in her hair. She seized both his hands, and 
gazed into his eyes, without speaking, for a moment ; 
her eyes were glistening and she was panting, as though 
she had just run hurriedly up the stairs. 

“J could not receive you below,” she began in a low 
tone; “ we are just starting for a dinner-party; I wanted 
to see you for a moment..... Was that the lady ta 


whom you are engaged, that I saw you with this morn- 


6 


ing ?” 


* 


2 Set YI Sy 
a 

oe ye 

AA a 


204 Smoke. 


“Yes, that was the one to whom I was engaged,” an- 
swered Litvinof, with a strong emphasis on the word 
“was.” 

“I wanted to see you a moment, to tell you that you 
are perfectly free, that I do not require you to change 
your plans. -.. +.” 

“Trene!” cried Litvinof, “why do you talk so to 
me ?” 

He spoke these words in a loud voice, and in a 
tone of insensate passion. Irene closed her eyes a mo- 
ment. 

“Ah !” she answered in a lower tone, though moved by 
what seemed an irresistible impulse, “you know not 
how I love you, but I have now only paid my debt, and 
endeavored to atone for my former wrong to you. I 
could not give you back my youth, but I have burdened 
you with no obligation and bound you by no promise. 
Oh! my darling, do what you will, you are free as air; 
nothing, nothing need bind you to me !” 

“ But, Irene, I can not live without you,” murmured 
Litvinof ; “I am yours forever. I can not live except- 
ing at your feet.” 

He rested his head upon her hands. Irene gazed for 
a moment upon his form, thus bowed before her. 


“ Know then,” she answered, “that I am ready to 


Smoke. 205 


risk all, that I will suffer no compunctions to deter me. 
What you bid me I will do. I am yours... for 
ever.” 

Some one was tapping lightly on the door. Irene 
bent forward and again murmured, “I am yours... 
farewell!” Litvinof felt her warm breath in his hair, 
but when he raised his head she had disappeared, and 
he heard only the rustling of her dress in the hall, and 
the impatient voice of Ratmirof, crying, “ Will you 
never come ?” 

Litvinof sank down upon a trunk that stood beside 
him, and placed his hands-before his face. A faint per- 
fume lingered on them; Irene had clasped his hands 
within her own. “I can not longer bear this,” was his 
thought. At this instant, the little girl entered, and 
with a frightened look said, ‘‘ Will you please go now, 
before...” He rose and quitted the hotel. He could 
not think of returning to his room at once ; he must 
first collect his scattered thoughts. His heart was 
beating slowly and irregularly; the earth was rocking 
beneath his feet. Litvinof entered the Al/ée Lichten- 
thal. He knew that the decisive moment had arrived, 
that he could no longer put it off by concealmeat or 
evasion, that an explanation with Tatiana was inevita- 


ble. But how could he enter upon it? He bade adieu 








206 Smoke. 


to all the happy and useful plans which he had formed ; 
he knew that he was about plunging headlong from a 
precipice, yet this was not what chiefly troubled him. 
He had become reconciled to his fate, but how could 
he present himself before his judge? If he had really 
to appear before a judge, before an angel with a flaming 
sword, his guilty heart could have, perhaps, endured it ; 
but he felt that he must strike this blow himself. It was 
fearful to think upon. He might yet go back and profit 
by the freedom which had been offered him. No! bet- 
ter death, better a thousand times. Freedom! The 
sound was hateful to him. He would rather fall and 
grovel in the dust, if those eyes would only cast their 
burning, loving glance upon him... 

“ Gregory Mikhailovitch !” saida solemn voice, while 
a hand was laid heavily upon his shoulder. 

He turned about with a startled air, and saw Potou- 
ghine standing by him. 

“‘ Excuse me, Gregory Mikhailovitch,” began the lat- 
ter with his customary grin, “perhaps I am intruding 
on you, but, seeing you, I thought. .... If you have 
any thing else to do though... .” 

“Oh no ; I am delighted to meet you,” grumbled 


Litvinof. 
Potoughine commenced walking by his side. ‘ What 


Smoke. 207 


a beautiful evening !” he continued; “ how warm it is ! 
Have you been walking long ?” 

“No; only a little while.” 

“I do not know why I asked the question; I saw 
you leaving the Adzel de 1 Europe.” ; 

** Have you been following me ?” 

eeSun 

“* Have you any thing to say to me ?” 

“Yes,” replied Potoughine, in a tone almost inaudi« 
ble. 

Litvinof stopped suddenly and, turning round, mea- 
sured from head to foot this man who had thus forced 
his society upon him. Potoughine’s face was pale and 
his look was wandering ; an expression of hopeless sor- 
row was plainly marked upon his sad and mournful 
features. 

“What do you wish to say to me?” said Litvinof, 
slowly, as he resumed his walk. 

walteeen ss Pardon mei... 01 will-tell you; soon,:. Let 
us rest a moment on this bench; it is a better place te 
talk.” | 

“There is something strange in this,” said Litvinof, 
seating himself at his side. ‘You are not in your ac- 
customed humor, Sozonthe Ivanovitch.” 


“ You are mistaken, I assure you ; I am very muchas 


208 Smoke. 


usual, and have no secrets to confide to you. I only 
wished to speak . . . of the impression which your fu- 
ture wife has made upon me... . the lady to whom you 
introduced me is the one to whom you are engaged, is 
she not? I must confess that I have never, in all my 
life, met a more pure and gentle nature. She has a 
heart of gold and an angelic disposition.” 

Potoughine said this in a sad and bitter tone, so that 
Litvinof could not but notice the discrepancy between 
his manner and his words. 

“Your impression concerning Tatiana Petrovna is 
perfectly correct,” he answered, “but I am somewhat 
surprised. . . first, that you should understand so well 
my relations toward her, then, that you should so correct- 
ly describe her character. She has, indeed, an angelic 
disposition, but excuse me if I ask whether that was 
the subject on which you wished to speak with me ?” 

“It would be impossible not to understand her nature,” 
hastily replied Potoughine avoiding the question thus 
put to him ; “fone look in her eyes reveals it all. She 
is worthy of a happy future : and the man who is called 
upon to share it with her is greatly to be envied. He 
should show himself deserving of such a fate.” 

Litvinof frowned. “Excuse me, Sozonthe Ivano- 


vitch,” he said, “our conversation is taking a strange 


Smoke. 209 


direction . . . I should like to know if your last words 
are intended to refer to me ?” 

Potoughine did not answer Litvinof at once; it was 
evident that a struggle was taking place within him. 
“Gregory Mikhailovitch,” he said at last, “if I have 
not misjudged you, the truth is always welcome to you, 
though it come in such a way as to cause you pain. I 
said just now that I saw you leaving ....” 

“The hétel de ? Europe. Well, what of it ?” 

“1 know whom you met there.” 

“Yes, I met Madame Ratmirof. What of that ?” 

“ What of that? ... You, who are engaged to Ta- 
tiana Petrovna, met Madame Ratmirof whom you love 

. . and by whom you are loved.” 

Litvinof sprang to his feet ; the hot blood mounted to 
his face. “‘What do you mean ?” said he angrily. “Is 
this a silly joke, or are you a spy upon my track? 
What do you mean ?” 

Potoughine looked sorrowfully upon him. “I do not 
wish to offend you, Gregory Mikhailovitch; my feel- 
ings you can not wound, they are no longer sensitive to 
pain.” | 

“T am wrong, perhaps. I am willing to believe that 
your motives are good enough. I do not understand, 


however, what right you have to meddle with a stranger’s 


- 


210 Smoke, 


private life and feelings, or what reason you can have 
for imagining what you have just stated to me.” 

“Ah! Gregory Mikhailovitch, if this were the result 
of my imagination, it would not have thus affected you. 
As regards my right to speak to you, any one has the 
right to save a drowning man.” 

““T am greatly obliged for your interest in my welfare,” 
quickly answered Litvinof, “but I can live without it, 
and as regards all those truisms concerning the wicked- 
ness of the world, the dangers which surround inexpe- 
rienced young men, e¢ cetera, I look on them as truisms, 
and in acertain sense despise them. I beg of you, 
therefore, not to disturb yourself, but to let me drown in 
| peace.” 

Litvinof was breathing hurriedly, his lips were trem- 
bling ; Potoughine looked upon him for a moment, then 
placing his hand upon his breast, replied : 

“Look at me, young man! Do I resemble a moral- 
ist ora preacher ? Can you not understand that it is 
not my interest in you, however great that may be, which 
has led me thus to speak to you, to give you occasion to 
accuse me of that which I despise above all else, inter- 
meddling and impertinence ? Can you not see that the 
man before you has been broken down and irrevocably 


ruined by the very passion from which he seeks to save 


Smoke. . 211 


you, and... by the very woman that you pretend ta 
love ?” 

Litvinof fell back a step. 

“ What? what is that? You... you... Sozon- 
the Ivanovitch? But Madame Belsky? that little 
Od Wee 

“Oh! do not question me upon that subject... It 
is a sad, a terrible story, which I will not try to tell you, 
I scarcely knew Madame Belsky ; that child is not mine, 
I did all, because she desired it, because it was essential 
to her safety. Should I now be in Baden, do you think, 
were she not here? Do not think thatit is only from 
regard for yov, that I thus warn you. I pity that beau- 
tiful and good young girl, who loves you. What interest 
can your future have forme? I fearforher . .. 1 fear 
for her.” 

“T feel highly honored, Monsieur Potoughine,” said 
Litvinof, “but as, according to your own account, we 
are both in the same position, why do you not act your- 
self in accordance with your good advice ; why may I 
not attribute your anxiety to another cause ?” 

“ Jealousy, I suppose you mean! Ah! young man, 
young man, you ought to be ashamed to thus misunder 
stand me, to thus pervert the meaning of my words, 


You are mistaken, we do not occupy the same position, 


212 Smoke. 


I am an old man, harmless and eccentric, hile you... 
But why should I make further comparisons? You 
would not, for a moment, play the part which I thanke 
fully accept. Jealousy ? He who is without hope can 
not be jealous, and it is too late for me now to begin to 
hope. I feelonly fear ... fear for her. Could I have 
possibly foreseen, when she first sent me to you, that 
what she called sorrow for her wrong to you would have 
led her on to such a step as this ?” 

“‘Excuse me, Sozonthe Ivanovitch, but you appear to 
know...” 

“T know nothing and, at the same time, I knowall. I 
know,” he added as he confronted Litvinof, “I know 
where she. was yesterday. It is impossible to stop her 
in her headlong career. I am not foolish enough, eith- 
er, to suppose that what I say will hold you back... 
you to whom such a temptation . . . but why should I 
say more? My only excuse for what I have already 
said, is that I could not help it. I could not but hope 
that perhaps you would reflect upon your course, per- 
haps you would try not to ruin her, and destroy forever 
the happiness of that innocent, loving girl... Ah! 
do not grow angryand impatient with me. Why should 
I not speak frankly with you? I am not moved by jeal- 


ousy or hate, I would fall at your feet if I could thus 


Smoke. 213 


influence you.. Now, farewell. What I have told 
you is a secret between us two. I donot wish to injure 
you.” 

Potoughine walked rapidly away, and was soon lost to 
view in the deepening twilight ; Litvinof did not endeav- 
or to detain him. 

My story is dark and terrible, Potoughine had said to 
Litvinof, at the same time refusing to relate it. We will 
give it in few words. 

Eight years before this time, he had been temporarily 
on duty with Count Reuzenbach. It was in the sum- 
mer. Potoughine took his papers to the count’s coun: 
try seat and passed many days there. Irene was then 
living with the count. She was not haughty toward 
those of lower rank ; more than once, the countess had 
reproved her for her improper, J/uscovid¢e familiarity. 
Irene quickly discovered the intelligence of this modest 
clerk, imprisoned in a straight coat buttoned to the 
chin. She often stopped and talked pleasantly with 
him, and he became passionately, deeply and myste- 
riously enamored of her. Mysteriously, as Ze thought. 
The summer passed away ; his services were no longer 
needed by the count. Potoughine was separated from 
Irene, but found that he could not forget her. Three 


years afterward, a lady, whom he knew but slightly, sent 


oF 


214 Smoke. 


him a request to call upon her. This lady, after muck 
digression and after exacting from him a solemn promise 
that he would never reveal what she was about to tell 
him, made him a proposition to marry a lady of high 
rank, for whom marriage had become a necessity. She 
would not name the other parties interested, but pro- 
mised that money should not be wanting. Potoughine 
was not angry—he was astonished rather,—but natu- 
rally refused at once. The intriguing woman then 
placed in his hands a short note from Irene. “You are 
a true and faithful friend,” she wrote, “I know that you 
will do for me what I ask. I require a sacrifice from 
you. You can save a being who is very dear tome. In 
saving her, you save me also. Ask me no questions 
concerning this. There is no one else whom I would 
ask to do it; to you, I give my hand and say, do this 
for me.” Potoughine read the note and answered that 
he certainly would refuse nothing to Irene Pavlovna, but 
that he preferred to hear the request from her own lips. 
An interview took place that very evening ; no one knew 
of it but this lady and themselves. Irene had before 
this left Count Reuzenbach. 

“Why did you select me for this?” asked Potoughine. 

She began to compliment him on his sterling quali+ 


ties, then suddenly changing her manner, said : 





Smoke. 215 


“No, I will not hide from you thetruth. I knew that 
you loved me, and that is why I chose you thus to help 
me.” 

Then she told him all. Etiza Belsky was an orphan ; 
her relatives hated her and were plotting to wrest from 
her her fortune ... if this plan which was now pro- 
posed should not be carried out, she would be ruined 
forever. Potoughine gazed silently and long upon 
Irene, and finally consented. She burst into tears and 
fell upon his neck. He too wept... but his tears 
were very different in their nature. Every thing was 
* prepared for a secret marriage, a powerful hand had re- 
moved all obstacles, when suddenly a little girl was 
brought into the world; the mother had taken poison, 
What was to be done with the child? Potoughine took 
it under his charge from Irene’s hands. 

A frightful, terrible story! Let us leave it, reader! 

An hour had passed before Litvinof made up his 
mind to return to his hotel. He had nearly reached it, 
when he suddenly heard footsteps behind him ; some 
one seemed following him, and as he hastened his pace, . 
this person also walked more rapidly. As he passed 
beneath a lamp, Litvinof suddenly turned about and 
recognized General Ratmirof. He was returning alone 
from the dinner-party. He was elegantly dressed; a_ 


‘/ \ 


216 Smoke. 


rich cloak was thrown across his shoulders; he wore a 
white cravat, and a medal hung from his button-hole by 
a golden chain. He was staring straight at Litvinof, 
and there was such an expression of defiant scorn and 
hatred in his face, that Litvinof deemed it advisable to 
advance at once upon him. As he drew near, however, 
the general’s expression suddenly changed ; his mock 
politeness again returned, and a hand covered with a 
neatly fitting glove deftly raised his faultless hat. _ Lit 
vinof returned the compliment without a word, and each 
one went his way. ‘‘He begins to be suspicious,” 
thought Litvinof. “It is some one else, perhaps,” 
said the general to himself. 

Tatiana was playing piquet with her aunt, when Lit- 
vinof entered their room. 

‘You are a nice young man,” cried Capitoline Mar- 
kovna, as she threw her cards upon the table ; “this is 
our first day here, and we have seen you scarcely at all. 
First we waited, then we scolded. . .” 

“IT said nothing, aunt,” remarked Tatiana. 

“Oh! we know that you are very patient! Are you 
not ashamed, sir? Can a man who is engaged act 
50 cn 

Litvinof made such excuses as he could, and drew 


near the table. 





- 


Smoke. 21.4 


“Why have you stopped your game ?” he asked after 
a short pause. 

“What a question! we were only playing because we 
had nothing else to do. . . . Now you have come .. .” 

“Tf you would like to hear the evening concert, I shall 
be pleased to take you there,” he answered interrupt- 
ing her. 

Capitoline Markovna gave her niece an inquiring 
glance. 

“If you wish to go, aunt, I am ready,” said she ; 
“but will it not be pleasanter to remain at home ?” 

‘I think so. We will have some tea in the Musco- 
vite fashion, and will have a nice, confidential talk to- 
gether ; we have had no good opportunity before.” 

Litvinof ordered the tea, but found that he could not 
enter into the conversation with any spirit. A feeling 
of remorse was constantly gnawing at his heart; it 
seemed to him that every word he spoke was false, and 
that Tatiana knew it to be so. No change, however, 
was apparent in her demeanor, except that her timid 
glance seemed to avoid Litvinof, and that she was paler | 
than usual. Capitoline Markovna asked her if he 
head ached. 

Tatiana was about to give a negative reply, but, after 


thinking a moment, she answered, “ Yes, a little.” 


218 Smoke. 


“ You are probably tired by the journey,” remarked 
Litvinof, blushing as he spoke. 

“Yes; I am tired,” answered Tatiana, and her 
glance again seemed trying to avoid him. 

“You must rest yourself, Tanioucha.” 

‘‘T will retire soon, dear aunt.” 

The Zraveler’s Guide was lying on the table. Litvi- 
nof began to read from it, in a low voice, a description 
of the environs of Baden. 

“That is all very pleasant,” interrupted Capitoline 
Markovna; “but there is something else we must not 
forget; they say that linen is very cheap here; we must 
buy some for the ¢vousseau,”’ 

Tatiana’s glance fell. 

“We shall have plenty of time for that, aunt. You 
never think of yourself ; you really need a new dress. 
You see how stylish every body here is.” 

“Oh! no; I do not need it; Iam nota fashionable 
person. It would be different, Gregory Mikhailovitch, 
if I were a beauty, like your friend. What did you say 
her name was ?” 

“What friend ?” 

“Why, the one we met this morning ?” 

“Qh! I know,” said Litvinof, with an air of assumed 


indifference, and again he felt a blush of shame suffuse 


& 


Smoke, 219 


his cheeks. “No,” he said to himself; “I can not 
bear tkis longer !” 

He was seated by her whom he had promised to 
make his wife, and close to her, in the side pocket of 
his coat, resting on his breast, was Irene’s handker- 
chief. Capitoline Markovna went into the next room, 
and left them alone together for a moment, 

“Tania,” said Litvinof with an effort... . It was 
the first time that day that he had called her by her’ 
name. 

She turned toward him. 

“T ... 1 have something very important to say to 
you.” | 

“When, to-night ?” 

** No, to-morrow.” : 

“Ah! to-morrow. Very well.” 

Litvinof was seized by a powerful feeling of pity and 
remorse. He took Tatiana’s hand, and touched it to 
his lips as though asking her for pardon; her heart 
sank within her; his action filled her with vague fear 
and dread. 

During the night Capitoline Markovna, who slept in 
the same room with her niece, suddenly started and 
raised herself in bed. 


“ Tania,” said she, “are you crying ?” 


220 . Smoke. 


Tatiana did not reply at once. At last she said, in 
her usual candid manner, “No aunt; I am afraid that 


I caught cold to-day.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


“Why did I say that to her?” thought Litvinof the 
next morning, as he sat by the window of his room. He 
spitefully shrugged his shoulders: the fact was he had 
said itin order to cut off all retreat. Upon the window- ~ 
sill was a note from Irene. She begged him to call on 
heratnoon. Potoughine’s words kept constantly return- 
ing to him; although they had no powerful effect, they 
irritated him and he could not drive them from his 
thoughts. \Suddenly a knock was heard at the door. 

“Wer da?” asked Litvinof. : 

“You are at home, open the door!” answered the 
gruff voice of Bindasof. 

The latch was giving way beneath his pressure. Lit- 
vinof turned pale with anger. ‘“ You can not come in,” 
he cried. ; 

“Can not come in ? what does that mean ?”’ 

“T tell you I can not see you; leave!” 

“Well, that is pleasant! I only wanted to borrow a 
little money of him,” grumbled Bindasof. 


He went away, however, striking his heels against 


222 Smoke. 


the floor, in his usual manner. Litvinof could scarcely 
keep from running after him; he wanted to choke the 
insolent fellow. The events of the last few days had 
unstrung his nerves ; a little more and he would have 
cried. He drank a glass of cold water, shut up all the 
drawers in the closet of his room, without knowing what 
he did, and went to call on Tatiana. 

He found her alone; Capitoline Markovna had gone 
shopping. Tatiana was seated on the sofa, listlessly 
holding a book which she had not been reading, the 
name of which, even, she probably did not know. She 
did not move, but her heart was beating violently, and 
the trembling of the white collar about her throat was 
plainly to be seen. 

Litvinof appeared confused. He sat down by her and 
said good-morning with a smile, wl **’she returned 
without speaking. She had bowed when he had enter- 
ed in a polite and formal manner, without looking 
directly at him. He held out his hand ; she placed her 
cold hand within it, but soon drew it back and took up 
her book again. Litvinof felt that it would only wound 
Tatiana to open the conversation with any ordinary to- 
pic. As usual with her, she asked no question, but her 
whole manner seemed to say, “I am waiting.” He 


must now fulfill his promise. Although he had thought 


Smoke. 223 


of nothing else all night, he did not know what to say, 
nor how to break this cruel silence. 

“Tania,” he began at last, “I told you, yesterday, 
‘that I had something important to say to you. I am 
now prepared,and I beg you not to be pained by my 
words, and to believe that my regard for you... .” 

He stopped ; his courage failed him. Tatiana had 
neither moved nor looked at him; she only held her 
book more tightly. 

“Between us,” continued Litvinof without finishing 
his former sentence, “there has always existed the ut- 
most frankness ; I esteem you too much to attempt to 
deceive you; I wish to show you that I can appreciate 
the nobleness and independence of your character, and 
although . .. doubtless . . .” 

“ Gregory:** ‘hailovitch,” began Tatiana in a voice 
which was calm, although her face became deathly pale. 
“‘T will help you: you.no longer love me, and you hesi- 
tate to tell me so.” 

Litvinof trembled. ? 

“Why,” he answered indistinctly, “why do you think - 
so? I do not understand... .” 

‘What! isitnotso? Tell me! tell me!” 

Tatiana turned toward Litvinof; her hair was thrown 


back, her face almost touched his, and her eyes, which 


224 Smoke. 


had so long avoided him, now looked straight into his 
own. 

“Ts it not so?” she asked again. 

He answered not a word ; not the least sound escap< — 
ed his lips. He could not have deceived her, even if he 
had known that she would have believed him, and that 
a falsehood would have saved him; he could not even 
sustain her glance. Tatiana needed no reply, she under- 
stood his silence and his guilty, downcast gaze ; she fell 
back on the sofa and let her book drop from her grasp. 
Up to this last moment she had hoped, and Litvinof 
knew it now ; he saw how truly hideous was all that 
he had done. He threw himself at her feet. 

“ Tatiana,” he cried, “if you knew how painful it is 
for me to see you in this position, how I suffer when I 
think that I have placed you there! My heart is bro- 
ken; I no longer recognize myself; in losing you, I am 
lost, and all is ruin, Tatiana, all! How can I strike 
such a blow against my dearest friend, my guardian an- 
gel! ! How can we meet like this, how could we pass a 
day like yesterday, together ! Las fey, 

Tatiana moved as though to rise and res him ; he 
clung to her dress. 

“No! listen to me a moment more,” he cried. “ You 


see me at your feet, but itis not to ask your pardon : you 


: Smoke. 2258 


can not, you ought not to forgive me. I only wish to tell 
you that your friend is lost, that he is plunging into an 
abyss, and does not desire to drag you with him. Can 
you save me?.... No,I push you back... I am 
lost, Tania, lost beyond recall !” ! 

Tatiana looked upon him. 

“You are lost ?” said she, as though she did not un- 
derstand his meaning. ‘“ You are lost?” 

“Yes, Tania, lost. All my life, all that is dear to me 
is lost; allis destroyed, and I knownot what awaits me 
in the future. No, Tatiana, I have not ceased to love 
you, but a fearful, irresistible desire has seized upon me. 
I have struggled against it...” 

Tatania rose frowning, while a shadow passed over 
her pale face. Litvinof also stood erect. 

“You love another woman,” she began, “and I know 
who that woman is .. . We met her yesterday, did we 
not? There is but one course for me to take. As you | 
say that this feeling is irresistible,” (Tatiana paused ; she 
hoped that Litvinof would interrupt her, but he did not 
speak,) “ I can only free you from . . . your promise.’ 

Litvinof bent his head submissively. i 

“You have reason to be nae he stammered ; “ you 
are right in‘accusing me of treachery and baseness,” 


Tatiana again looked upon him. 


226 Smoke. 


“I do not accuse you, Litvinof, neither do I condemn 
you. I agree with you that the truth, however painful, 
is better than what passed between us yesterday. What 
a life mine will be now !” 

“And mine !” said Litvinof in a sad voice. 

Tatiana walked toward the door. _ 

“IT beg you to leave me alone a moment, Gregory 
Mikhailovitch ; we will meet again and talk together. 
This is so unexpected! I can scarcely bear it... 
Leave me... We will meet again .. .” 

Thus speaking, Tatiana quickly left the room, closing 
and locking the door behind her. Totally bewildered, 
Litvinof went out into the street; a great heaviness 
seemed weighing on his heart; a man who had cut a fel- 
low creature’s throat might feelthus. At the same time 
he experienced a sensation of relief, as though a portion 
of the burden had been lifted from him. Tatiana’s gene- 
rosity had overpowered him ; he felt keenly all that he had 
lost, but something like anger was mingled with remorse : 
he was drawn toward Irene as the only refuge left to 
him, and yet he was angry with her. From day to day, 
Litvinof’s feelings had become more complex and con- 
fused ; he was tortured and irritated by them, and was, 
as it were, lost in this chaos. He had but one desire; 


to take any path, whatever it might be, that would lead 


" 


Smoke. 227 


him from this frightful darkness. Men of strong will 
like Litvinof should never give way to passion ; it destroys 
their very sense of being . . . But nature will not yield 
to reason .. . at least to human reason ; it has a logic 
of its own which we do not understand and will not ad- 
mit, until we are crushed by it as by a cruel wheel. 
After leaving Tatiana, Litvinof had but one thought : 
to see Irene. He went to her hotel, but the general 
was at home, at least so the porter told him. He would 
not enter, for he felt that he could not control himself, 
and went to the Conversationhaus to pass away the 
time. Vorochilof and Pichtchalkin soon were made 
aware of the fact that he was in bad humor: he let them 
understand that he thought the one as empty as a bell, 
the other as tiresome as a dreary rain; it was fortunate 
that Bindasof did not meet him, or there would certainly 
have been a grosser scandal. The two first-named gen- 
tlemen could scarcely contain their wrath. Vorochilof 
even went so far as to ask himself whether military eti- 
quette did not require him to demand satisfaction, but, 
like the officer of Gogol, he calmed himself by attack- 
ing some bread and butter in the café. Litvinof saw 
in the distance, Capitoline Markovna, dressed in her 
queer cloak, running from store to store. He felt 


ashamed when he thought of the sorrow that he was 


™. 


228 Smoke. 


about to cause this odd but excellent old lady. Then he 
thought of Potoughine, and of what he had said the 
evening before. Suddenly a vague but powerful attrac- 
tion seemed drawing him; if a breath from a passing 


cloud had touched him, it could not have seemed more 


intangible. Litvinof knew that Irene was approaching. 


Suddenly she appeared a few steps from him, leaning 
on another lady’s arm. Their eyes met. Irene proba- 
bly noticed something strange in Litvinof’s expression ; 
she stopped before a store for the sale of clocks from 
the Black Forest, beckoned to him, as though she 


wished to show him one of the clocks, the colored dial 


of which was surmounted by‘acuckoo, and said in an 


ordinary tone, as though she were speaking of the curi- 
osities before them : 

“Come in an hour, I shall be alone.” ; 

At this moment, the celebrated M’sieu Verdier ap- 
proached and fell into an ecstacy of delight over the 
color of her dress, and the jaunty Spanish hat which 
came low down upon her brow. . . . Litvinof disappear. 


ed among the crowd of people passing by. 


% 


CHAPTER XxX. 


“ Gregory,” said Irene two hours later, “what tron- 
bles you ? Tell me quickly, while we are alone.” 

“‘ Nothing troubles me,” answered Litvinof. “I am 
happy, that is all.” 

Irene cast down her eyes, smiled,and sighed. 

“‘ That is no answer.” 

Litvinof became thoughtful. 

“ Well, if you must know,” (Irene’s eyes expanded 
as she bent toward him,) ‘‘ I told every thing to Tatiana 
to-day.” 

“ What! did you speak of me?” 

Litvinof started. 

“ Trene, how could you think of sucha thing? IfI...” 

“ Forgive me, I did not mean it. What did you tell 
newe! 

“T told her that I no longer loved her.’ 

“Did she ask you why ?” 

“J said that I loved another, and that we had better 
part.” ; 

“Well, did she consent ?” 


230 Smoke. 


“Ah! Irene, youdo not know what a noble, gene 
rous girl she is.” 

“‘T believe you; that was the only course she could 
have taken though. 

““She had not a single bitter or reproachful, word for 
the man who had destroyed her happiness, who had de- 
ceived and shamefully deserted her.” 

Irene was carefully looking at her finger-nails. 

“Did she love you, Gregory ?” 

e Yes, rene, she loved me.” 

Irene silently smoothed out her dress. 

““T must confess,” she said at last, “that I do not 
exactly understand why you made this explanation to 
her.” 

“What! would you have me deceive so pure a soul ? 
Do you suppose... ?” 

“ T suppose nothing,” ects Irene interrupting him. “I 
confess that I have thought little about her; I can not 
think of two persons at one time.” 

VOU ICAN Me msasmera: 


“Ts she going away, this pure soul?” interrupted _ 





aid me,” answered Litvinof. Iam 
to see her again, but I know she will not remain here.” 


now 28 pleasant journey to her !” 


Smoke. 231 


‘No, she will not stay here. But I can talk of her 
no more; I can only think of what you promised me.” 

Irene cast a side glance on him. 

“Ungrateful creature! Are you not contented now ?” 

“No, Irene, I am not; you understand me.” 

Serousmean,! 1s 5..:.27? 

“Yes, you understand me. Remember what you 
have said and written to me. I can not play a second- 
ary part after all that I have done; it is not only my 
own, but another’s life that I have cast down at your 
. feet. I-have given up every thing that was dear to me 
before, and in return for this I believe, I know, that - 
you will keep your promise, that you will leave ail and 
fly with me.” 

“If you wish it, I am ready...” (Litvinof bent 
forward and rested his head upon her hands.) ‘I am 
ready, I take nothing back. But have you thought of 
the obstacles in your way ; can you overcome them ?” 


“JT have thought of nothing; but only say the word, 


only give me your consent, and before a month has 


ie 


passed...” 


“*A month ! we + for Italy in two weeks.” _ 
e enough, Oh, Irene ay U Te- 


ceive my proposal coldly ; perhaps it seems like’a dream 





“Two weeks are ti 


to you; but remember I am no longer a child, and I 


232 Smoke. 


never attempt what I can not perform. I know how 
fearful a step this is, I know I am assuming a great re- 
sponsibility ; but I can see no other course to take. I 
must break away from all relations with the past, in 
order not to appear a miserable liar before that young 
girl whom I have sacrificed for you.” 

Irene threw back her head and looked at him with 
flashing eyes. 

“Your pardon, Gregory Mikhailovitch. If I do fly, 
it must be with a man who is willing to make this sacri- 
fice for me, and not for the sake of retaining the re- | 
spect of a cold-blooded girl, with milk and water in her 
veins. I must confess that this is the first time I have 
ever heard the object of my regard spoken of as a per- 
son to be pitied. I think that a man who does not 
know his own mind is more deserving of commisera- 
tion.” 

This time Litvinof was angry. 

STrener ene. cree, 

Before he could say more, she rested her brow a mo- 
ment in her hand, then springing forward and throwing 
her arms about his neck, clasped him tightly in her em- 
brace. | 
“Forgive me,” she murmured in a choking voice, 


“forgive me, Gregory. You see how! am spoiled, how 


Smoke. | 23% 


jealous and wicked I am; you see how much I need 
your forbearance and your aid. Yes, save me, drag me 
from this horrible abyss before I am completely lost 
within it. Let us fly from all who know us here, to some 
far distant, free and happy home. There, your Irene 
may prove more worthy of you, more deserving of the 
sacrifices you have made for her. Do not be angry, 
forgive me. I will do whatever you may bid me, and 
go wherever you may lead.”’ 

Irene did not loose Litvinof from her impassioned 
clasp. As she leaned upon his breast, he bent his head 
above her, and in a transport of gratified and passionate 
delight, drew her hands from about his neck, and raised 
them to his lips. “Irene, Irene,” he murmured. 

Suddenly she raised her head as though listening ‘ ‘ 

“‘T hear my husband’s step, he has just gone into his — 
room,” she whispered, and rising quickly, she took an- 
other chair. Litvinof also started up. “ Do not go,” 
she said ina low tone, “he is already suspicious and 
you will only make him more so. I know you do not 
fear him...” (She kept her eyes while she was speak- 
ing fastened on the door.) “ Yes, I hear him, he will 
be here very soon. Say something, talk to me!” (Lit- 
vinof had not yet regained his composure and had not 


spoken a word.) “Are you going to the theatre to- 


234 Smoke. 


morrow ?” she continued in a loud voice. ‘They play 
le Verre d@’ eau, an old play in which Plessis makes hor- | 
rible faces.” “Iam on fire,” she added in alow tone; “I 
can not bear this torture long; we must carry oat our 
plans at once. I should have told you before that he 
has all my money, but I have my jewels with me. We 
will first go to Spain, if you think best.” Again she 
spoke aloud, “Why is it that all actresses grow so 
stout? Even Madeline Brohan. Say something, 
speak! My head is dizzy; but do not fear on my ac- 
count... I must appoint some place where we can 
meet to-morrow. Iam sorry that you told that young 
girl. ... Oh! how delightful!” she suddenly cried 
aloud, laughing nervously, and tearing the lace border 
of her handkerchief. 

“May I come in?” asked Ratmirof from the other 
room. 

SOfacounse.. 4... Cometn., 

The door opened, and the general appeared upon the 
scene. At the sight of Litvinof he frowned ; he bowed 
to him, however, or rather he stiffly bent his body for. 
ward at the hips. 

“T did not know that you had company,” he said, 
“JT beg pardon for intruding. Are you still pleased 


with Baden, 47’sdeu . . . Litvinof ?” 


Smoke. 235 


Ratmirof always hesitated before pronouncing Litvi- 
nof’s name; he acted as though he had forgotten it, and 
feared that he might get it wrong. He imagined that 
he wounded Litvinof’s pride by this pretended forgetful- 
ness, as well as by the exaggerated politeness with 
which he always greeted him. | 

“T am not yet tired of the place, A/’szeu . . . Rat- 
mirof.” 

“Indeed? I am thoroughly disgusted with it; we 
are going away soon, are we not, Irene Pavlovna? We 
have had enough of Baden, have we not? By the way, 
I have been playing this morning, and have won five 
hundred francs for you.” 

Irene playfully held out her hand. 

“Give it to me,” she said, “it will do nicely for pin- 
money.” 

“You shall have it in due time. Are you going so 
soon, J7’szeu Litvinof ?” 

AVES; you see that I am, do you not ?” 

Ratmirofs body gave another formal bend. 

“T hope to have the pleasure of meeting you soon 
again.” | 

“Farewell, Gregory Mikhailovitch,” said Irene, “I 
will surely keep my promise.” 


“What promise? if I mayask,” inquired her husband, 


& 236 Smoke. 


Irene smiled. 

“No, I can not tell you. Between ourselves,” she 
added, “it is only a trifle. Itis in reference to 7he Four- 
ney... where you will. Stahl’s book, you know !” 

“Oh yes! Iknow! It has fine pictures in it.” 

Perfect harmony reigned once more in this charming 
family ; Ratmirof was delighted by his wife’s gracious 


reception and confiding manner. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


**] had better think no more about it,” said Litvinof 
to himself as, while walking in the street, another 
struggle rose within his breast. “The matter is fully 
settled. She will keep her promise, and I have only to 
make the necessary arrangements. . . . She seemed to 
hesitate, though, when she spoke.”’ He shook his head 
despondingly. His own resolutions seemed strange 
and unnatural to him. But inthe human mind, it is im- 
possible for the same thoughts to continue long without 
a feeling of fatigue ; like the figures of the kaleidoscope, 
our impressions are constantly changing. Litvinof grew 
very weary. 

He wanted to rest, if only for a little time, but Tas 
nia? He shuddered, yet without any hesitation, went 
to his hotel, with a strange feeling in his mind that he 
was this day bounding like a ball between the two. He | 
must bring this torture to an end. 

He went at once to Tatiana’s room, in a mechanical, 
listless way. Capitoline Markovna came forward to re- 


ceive him. One glance at her face showed him that she 


238 Smoke. 


knew all. The poor old lady’s eyes were swollen; 
there was an expression of mingled indignation, pain 
and stupefaction on her burning face. She started to 
spring toward him, then stood motionless and, biting 
her trembling lips, gave him a look of hate, entreaty 
and despair; yet all the while she seemed striving to 
persuade herself that this was but a foolish, senseless 
dream. 

**So you have come,” she cried. 

The door of the next room opened, and Tatiana, look- 
ing pale but very calm, softly entered. She sat down by 
her aunt and gently took her hand within her own. 

“Sit down, Gregory Mikhailovitch,” she said to Lit- 
vinof, who was standing like a statue near the door. 
‘Tl am very glad to see you once more. I have told 
my aunt of my decision, our decision; she entirely ap- 
proves of it. ... Without mutual love, there can be 
no true happiness ; esteem alone is not enough,” (at the 
word esteem Litvinof involuntarily cast down his eyes, ) 
“and it is better now to separate, than to repent when 
it is too late. Do you not think so, aunt ?” 

“Without doubt,” began Capitoline Markovna, “ with- 
out doubt. Tanioucha, one who can not appreciate you 
our. WHOwaS clecideds.a.e. 4 


“ Aunt,” said Tatiana, cutting her short, “ remem- 


Smoke. 239 


ber what you promised me. You have always said to 
me, ‘Truth, Tatiana, truth and frankness before all 
else.’ Truth and frankness are not always pleasant ; if 
they were, the exercise of them would be no credit to 
us.” . 

She tenderly kissed her aunt’s white hair, then, turn- 
ing toward Litvinof, continued, 

“‘We have decided to leave Baden .. . we think it 
will be best for all of us.” 

“When do you go?” asked Litvinof in a low tone. 

He remembered that Irene had asked him the same 
question. Capitoline was about to answer, when Tas 
tiana stopped her, gently passing her hand over her 
cheek. 

‘Soon, very soon, | think.” 

“Will you permit me to inquire in what direction you 
intend to ga?’ continued Litvinof in the same low 
tone. 

*‘ First to Dresden, then to Russia .. .” 

“What difference does it make to you, Gregory | 
Mikhailovitch ?” asked Capitoline Markovna in a shrill 
voice. . 

“ Aunt !” said Tatiana again. 

There was a moment’s silence, broken first by Lit- 


vinof, 


240 Suoke. 


“Tatiana Petrovna, you can not know how sad and 
painful are my feelings .. .” 

Tatiana rose. 

“Gregory Mikhailovitch,” she said, “say no more on 
that subject, I beg of you; if not for your own sake, at 
least for mine. I have known you longer than since 
yesterday, and can easily understand what your feelings 
are. But why open these wounds afresh? ...” She 
stopped, striving to control herself, to hold back the 
tears which had started to her eyes; she finally suc- 
ceeded, and continued, “ Why open these wounds 
again? ... But time is passing. I have one more favor 
to ask of you. Be kind enough to mail a letter for us ; 
itis very important, and we have not the time to go... 
Wait a minute, I will get it for you.” 

As she reached the door, Tatiana cast an uneasy 
glance on Capitoline Markovna ; but she was sitting so 
calmly, she looked so gloomy with her frowning face 
and compressed lips, that Tatiana simply made a sign 
to her to say nothing, and left the room. Scarcely had 
the door closed upon her, however, when the frowning 
look disappeared from Capitoline Markovna’s face; she 
rose, ran on tip-toe to Litvinof, and bending forward SO 
as to look into his face, trembling and crying, began te 


speak in a low, quick tone. 


Smoke. 241 


‘In God’s name, Gregory Mikhailovitch, what does 
this mean? Itis adream, isit not? Yow give up Ta: 
tiana, you cease to love her, you fail to keep your word! 
You, whom we always looked upon as being firm and 
true. as:steel! You? you? Gricha?....:.” . After ’a 
short pause she went on again, “You are killing her, 
Gregory Mikhailovitch.” (The tears began to course 
rapidly down her cheeks.) ‘‘ Now she conceals her 
feelings—you know her nature ; she does not complain, 
nor strive to obtain her own desires, the very reason 
why others should care the more for her. She has 
been saying again and again to me, ‘ Aunt, we must not 
lose our dignity.’ This is not a matter of dignity, bat 
of life and death...” Tatiana was heard moving a 
chair in the next room. “Yes, itis her death that I 
warn you of,” continued the worthy old lady in a lou ler 
tone. ‘How did this happen? Are you bewitche 1? 
Did you not, only a few short days ago, write her he 
most loving letters? Canatrue manact so? Ilan, 
as you know, an unprejudiced, self-reliant woman; _I 
have educated Tatiana to be like me in this respect.” 

“Aunt?” cried Tatiana from the next room. 

“Gregory Mikhailovitch, your principles are the same 
as ours, and for such a man, the keeping of-a promise 


is a sacred duty. If we do not fulfill our duties, wi at 


242 Smoke. 


will become of us? We must not follow out our own 

desires, without first consulting the good of others. To 

do this is wicked and criminal. We are not free to act 
hs always as we please.” 

“ Aunt, please come here a moment,” calied Ta- 
tiana. 

“In a minute, my darling, in a minute.”—Capitoline 
Markovna seized Litvinof by the hand.—“I see that 
you are growing angry, Gregory Mikhailovitch.” (1 am 
not angry, he tried to say, but his tongue refused to do 
his bidding.) “I do not wish to provoke you, but rather 
to beg you to be merciful. Think while there yet is 
time, do not kill her, and destroy forever your own hap- 
piness. She will believe you still, Gricha, she will be- 
lieve you; all is not yet lost ; she loves you as you will 
never be loved again. Let us leave this hateful Baden ; 
we will go away together. Free yourself from this 
charm which has bewitched you, and take pity .. .” 

“Aunt!” Tatiana called again, with something of 
impatience in her tone. 

Capitoline Markovna no longer heard her, 

“Only say yes,” she said to Litvinof, “and I will ar- 
range all . . . Only nod your head, just a little nod like 
this !” } 


Litvinof would have gladly yielded up his life for her _ 


Smoke. 243 


but the word “yes” did not leave his lips, and he made 
not the slightest sign. 

Tatiana returned with the letter in her hand ; Capi- 
toline Markovna left Litvinof and, leaning over the table, 
pretended to be looking over some accounts and papers 
lying there. 

Tatiana approached Litvinof. ‘Here is the letter I 
was speaking of,” she said. “You will mail it at once, 
will you not ?” 

Litvinof raised his eyes . . . It was indeed his judge 
that stood before him. Tatiana seemed to him to have . 
increased in stature; her face, glorious with such beau- 
ty as he had never seen in it before, seemed as hard and 
cold as that of a marble statue; her simple dress fell in 
stiff folds like those of antique drapery ; she was look- 
ing straight before her, and her cold, fixed glance seem- 
ed to come from eyes of stone. Litvinof read there his 
sentence; he bowed, took the letter from her hand 
which was outstretched toward him, and silently left the 
room. 

Capitoline Markovna threw herself into Tatiana’s 
arms, but she gently pushed her back, dropping her eyes 
upon the ground; the color returned to her face; she 


cried, ‘‘ Now let us lose no time,” and again went into the 


244 Smoke. 


next room. Capitoline Markovna followed her, her 
head bowed down. 

The letter which Tatiana had confided to Litvinof’s 
care was addressed to one of her friends at Dresden, a 
German lady who rented furnished rooms.  Litvinof 
dropped it into the box, and as it fell, it seemed to him 
that all his past life was buried with it. He walked 
away from the town and wandered fora long time in the 
narrow pathways of the vineyards; a feeling of self- 
contempt was constantly humming through his brain, 
like those buzzing flies which, at certain periods of the 
summer, we try in vain to drive away. The part which 
he had played in this last interview seemed very despic- 
able to him . . . When he returned to the hotel, he in- 
quired about the ladies, and was told that immediately 
after he had left them, they had asked to be driven to 
the depot, and had there taken the train without saying 
whither they were going. Their trunks had been sent 
down and their accounts settled, in the morning. Ta- 
tiana had given Litvinof the letter, in order to send him 
away and so avoid the pain of parting. He asked the 
porter if the ladies had not left a note for him ; the por- 
ter gave him a negative reply, accompanying it with an 
inquiring glance. This sudden departure, after engaging 


the rooms for a week, evidently appeared strange te 


Smoke. 245 


2 


him. Litvinof turned away and shut himself up in his 
room. He did not leave it till the next day. Part o: 
the night he passed at his desk writing, and then tear~ 
ing up what he had written. Already the sky was light- 
ed by the first faint glimmerings of the dawn, when he 
at last brought his long-continued labor toa close, and 


finished a letter to Irene. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


The following is the letter which he had written : 

“Tatiana went away to-day; we shall never see each 
other more . . . Ido not even know where she intends 
to live. She has taken with her every thing which has 
heretofore seemed beautiful and precious to me; all my | 
plans, all my resolutions have disappeared with her ; 
all my work is lost, my long study has accomplished no- 
thing, my occupations are all without object, without 
value; all my past life is dead to me; I have buried it 
to-day. I feel this deeply and know it surely, and yet I 
am without regret. It is not forme to mourn; that is : 
impossible when I know that I am loved by you. I 
only. wish to tell you that in the midst of all this buried 
past, of all these hopes reduced to smoke and ashes, 
there remains for me one living, unalterable fact, my 
love for you. That love is all that is left to me ; to call 
it my only treasure would not suffice; I am filled with 
this love, it forms my very sense of being; it is my fu- 
ture, my calling, my religion, and my country. You 


know me well, Irene, you know how I dislike all exag: 


a 


Smoke. 247 


geration, yet however strong may seem the terms in 
which I have attempted to describe my feelings, you 
need not suspect that they are not sincere. Itis nota 
young man, who, in love’s first ecstasy, murmurs impos- 
sible vows into your ear, but rather a man of great expe-. 
rience, who pictures for you simply, frankly, almost with 
fear, what he recognizes to be true. Yes, your love is - 
every thing to me. Judge then for yourself; can I 
leave this a//7 in another’s hands, to dispose of as he 
will? You belong to him! All my being, my heart’s 
blood belong to him! I only an observer of my own 
life! No, this can not be! this can not be! To be able 
only to obtain by stealth that which I must have to 
breathe, to live, is destruction and deathtome. I know 
how great a sacrifice I demand of you, without having 
any right to do so. But it is not false pride which leads 
to this; an egotist would not have even thought of it. 
Yes, my requirements are difficult, I am not surprised 
that you are terrified by them. You despise the men 
among whom you live, the society which surrounds you ; 
but can you leave this same society, can you trample 
under foot the crowns which it has placed upon your 
brow, can you look down upon public opinion, the opin- 
ion of these hated men? Ask your own heart, Irene, 


do not attempt what is beyond your strength. I do not 


248 Smoker 


wish te blame you, but remember: once before you 
could not resist temptation. I can give you hut little 
in exchange for what you resign. I will say but one 
word more; if you do not feel to-morrow, to-day even, 
that you can willingly leave all and follow me—you see 
I speak boldly and do not qualify my words—that you 
do not fear a strange home, loneliness and the scorn of 
men ; if you are not, in one word, sure of yourself, tell 
me of it frankly, without delay, and I will leave you; I 
will leave you with a broken heart, but with a blessing 
for your frankness. But if, my beautiful and brilliant 
queen, you really love a man as lowly and obscure as I, 
if really you are ready to share my fate—then give me 
your hand and let us start together on our/dangerous 
journey. Only do not forget this fact: my decision can 
not be changed; I must have all or nothing. It may 
seem madness, but I can take no other course. I love 
you far too much.” ; 

This letter did not please Litvinof; it did not express 
exactly what he wished to say ; he found much that was 
formal init. In fact, it was not so good as some ot 
those which he had torn up, but still it contained what 
was most important, and Litvinof, worn out and wearied, 
could write nothing better. The trouble was that he 


knew he had not given his thoughts an elegant expres 


Smoke. 249 


sion, and like every one not accustomed to literary work, 
he devoted too much attention to his style. The first 


letter that he wrote was the best; it flowed naturally 
from his heart. Litvinof did not think of this, but sent 
his letter to Irene. She answered it by the following 
short note: 

“Come to me, to-day; 4e will not be home at all. 
Your letter has greatly troubled me. Ido nothing but 
think, think, think ... my head is dizzy. A heavy 
weight is on my heart; but you love me and I am 
happy. Come.” 

She was in her own room when Litvinof called upon 
her. The same little girl who was watching on the stair 
case once before, opened the door for him. On the 
table, a round box full of laces was lying open. Irene 
was carelessly lifting them with one hand, while in the 
other she held Litvinof’s letter. She had been weep- 
ing; her lashes were still wet, her eyelids swollen; 
traces of tears were visible on her cheeks. Litvinof 
stopped in the doorway; she had not seen him. 

“Why are you weeping ?” he asked in a surprised 
tone. 

She trembled as he spoke, then passed her hand 
slowly through her loosened hair and looked up at him 


* with a smile. 


250 Smoke. 


«“ Why are you weeping ?” repeated Litvinof. 

She silently held up his letter. 

“Why does that trouble you ?” he asked after a mos 
ment’s pause. 

“Come here and sit down by me; give me your 
hand... Yes, I have been weeping; does that sur- 
prise you? Is it an easy thing to do what you re- 
quire ?” 3 

Again she held up his letter. 

“T know it is difficult, Irene; I do not deny it, I un- 
derstand your position perfectly; I can not but feel, 
however, that if you truly love me, if my arguments 
have proved convincing, it is strange that you should 
be thus in tears. I come here to hear my fate; is it 
death or life? Your answer must determine. Oh, do 
not look upon me so... Your eyes remind me of 
those old days at Moscow.” 

Irene blushed and turned away her eyes, as if she, 
herself, felt that her glance betrayed her. 

“What are you saying, Gregory? Are you not 
ashamed ? You speak as though you doubted me. You 
are troubled by my tears, but you do not understand 
them. Your letter, dear,has made me think. You 
wrote me that you depended wholly on my love, that 


your former work no longer interested you. I asked: 


Smoke. 251 


myself if love alone could satisfy you long. Will you 
not be wearied soon, will you not wish for a more active 
life, will you not long for those aims and occupations" 
which you now abandon? These were the thoughts 
that troubled me and made me weep.” 

Litvinof looked fixedly at Irene, but she did not shun 
his gaze; they seemed endeavoring to read each other’s 
secret thoughts, those thoughts which their words did 
not reveal. 

“You mistake me,” answered Litvinof; “I probably 
did not clearly express my meaning. Weariness ! in- 
action! with the new strength that your love will give 
me? Oh! Irene, believe me, your love is a new life to 
me; it will nerve me to new effort.’ 

Irene became thoughtful. 

‘Where shall we go?” she murmured. 

“We will talk about that later ... You consent 
then ?” 

She looked into his eyes. 

“Will you be happy ?” 

eetrene 1:7 

“Will you never regret what you have done ?” 

As she spoke she leaned over the box of laces and 
began to hastily arrange them. 


“ Do not be provoked because I am busy with these 


252 Smoke. 


trifles. I have to attend a ball; these things have been 
sent here for me tochoose from. Oh! my heart is full,” 
she cried suddenly, resting her face upon the box. Tears 
started to her eyes; she stepped back quickly : her 
tears might spoil the laces. 

“Trene, you are weeping again,” said-Litvinof in a 
troubled voice. . 

“Yes, yes,” answered Irene, “Ah! Gregory, do not 
torment me, do not torment yourself. Let us trust each 
other. Why dolI weep? Ido not understand, myself. 
You have heard my decision, you know that it will not 
change, that I will consent to . . . how did you phrase 
it... toall or nothing. ... What more can you de- 
sire? Let us trust each other. Why should we bind 
ourselves by further promises? We are now together, 
we love each other ; can’we do nothing better than to 
question or suspect our feelings? Look at me: I do 
not deceive myself, I know that I am in the wrong, that 
he has a right to kill me. What matters it tome? Iam 
with you. <A day spent thus is an eternity.” 

She rose and looked down, with asmile, on Litvinof, 
throwing back from her face a tress of hair, on which 
her tears were sparkling. A rich lace cape slipped 
from the table and fell beneath her feet; she trampled 


on tt with disdain. 


Smoke. 253 


“* Are you not pleased with me to-day? Have I lost 
my beauty since last we met? Tell me, Gregory, do 
you love me ?” 

She seized him by both hands, and laid her head 
upon his breast, while her hair, loosed from its sump- 


tuous folds, fell about him in a perfumed cloud. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


Litvinot was walking up and down his room, lost in 
E thought. He now must pass from theory to practice, he 
now must find the means for flight. He thought little 
of this, however, but kept constantly asking himself 
whether he could depend upon the promise which he had 
so firmly insisted on. Would she not recall it, even 
after having given so strong a pledge? Irene had said 
to him as he left her, “Make your arrangements and 
let me know when every thing is ready.” This was the 
fact; he must doubt no more, but act at once; and he 

id act, at least in imagination. He must first think of 
money matters. Litvinof found that he was the posses- 
sor of 1328 florins ; this sum was not very large, but 
would answer for present wants. He would write at 
once to his father, requesting him to send him all the 
money that he could, to sell the wood and a portion of 
the land. . . . But what reason could he give for this ? 

. . . He would find a reason in due time. Irene had 
spoken of her jewels, but he did not care to take those 


into consideration ; they might be of service at some fu- 


Smoke. 205 


ture day, if trouble should come upon them. Besides 
he had an excellent Geneva watch, which he could sell 
for .... 400 francs perhaps. Litvinof went to his 
banker and endeavored to obtain a loan, but the Baden 
bankers are very prudent and cautious men ; they gene- 
rally show you a face a yard long when such a proposi- 
tion is made to them: some of them laugh in your face, 
to let you understand that they appreciate your innocent 
joke. Litvinof, to his shame, now tried his luck at rou- 
lette ; he even went so far as to place a thaler on num- 
ber thirty which figure corresponded with hisage. He 
did this with a view to increasing his capital; he did 
not succeed in so doing, however, but instead left upon 
the board twenty-eight florins. Anotherimportant matter 
was the passports. The authorities, however, were not 
very Strict, in regard to a woman’s passport; in some 
countries, Belgium and England for example, they did 
not ask for it at all; moreover, if it became necessary, he 
could procure a foreign one. Litvinof weighed all these 
matters very seriously in his mind; his energy was © 
great and fully equal to the occasion, but all the time, in 
spite of himself, there seemed something preposterous, 
almost ludicrous in all these plans. It seemed as though 
this whole affair was but a jest, as though no one ever 


cloped except in comedies and novels. Litvinof called 


3 


256 Smoke. 


to mind the adventure of one of his friends, a cornet 
named Batzof, who carried off in a carriage drawn 
by three horses covered with bells, a merchant’s 
daughter, after having first made both the girl and her 
parents drunk, He was overtaken in his flight and 
beaten almost to death. Litvinof was provoked with 
himself for thinking of an incident so unsuited to his 
present humor; then his thoughts turned to Tatiana, 
her sudden departure, the grief, suffering, and shame 
which he had caused, and then he understood too well 
that he had undertaken no trivial affair, and that he had 
been right when he had told Irene, that there was no 
other course for him to take: And again, at the mere 
name of Irene, aburning, irrestible desire took posses- 
sion of his heart. 

He heard the galloping of horses on the path and 
stepped aside. Irene passed by him, accompanied by 
the stout officer. She recognized Litvinof, nodded to 
him, and striking her horse sharply with the whip, was 
carried rapidly away, her dark veil streaming in the 
breeze. | 

‘Not so fast,” cried the officer, as he tried to over- 


take her. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


The next morning, Litvinof had just returned from 
talking with his banker concerning the best method of 
having funds remitted to him, when the porter brought 
- him aletter. He recognized Irene’s writing, and, with- 
cut breaking the seal—a presentiment of evil had come 
upon him—went to his room. The letter was in 
Grech: and read as follows: 

“‘] have been thinking all night of your proposition. 
... I will say to you exactly what I feel. You have 
been frank with me; I will be so with you: I can not 
fly with you; Iam not strong enough. I know I am 
doing you great wrong—my second fault is greater than 
my first. - I despise and reproach myself, but I can not 
change my feelings. It is in vain that I keep repeating 
to myself that I am destroying your happiness, and that 
you now have a perfect right to call me a coquette, af- 
ter I have thus broken a solemn promise. .... I am 
frightened and ashamed ; but I can not act differently ; 
I can not, I can not. I will not try to excuse myself, 


I will not say that I have been acting blindly .. . that 


258 Smoke 


is no excuse for me. I will say, however, that I am 
yours—yours forever ; do with meas you will. But to 
fly—to give upall....no! no! no! I asked yout 
save me; I hoped to atone for my wrongs to you, to 
destroy my past life; but there is no safety for me; the 
poison has gone too deep; I have not breathed this air 
so Many years without feeling its power. 1 hesitated 
long before writing this letter; I am fearful of the effect 
it will have upon you. I can not live without your love ; 
but it does not seem right to me, to conceal the truth 
from you, especially as you are about taking measures 
for the accomplishment of our plan. Ah! it was a de- 
lightful dream. O, my darling, treat me as a feeble and 
worthless woman! despise me, but do not desert me! 
do not desert your Irene! I can not live away from the 
fashionable world, nor can I live without your love. We 
shall return soonto St. Petersburg. Come with us; we 
will find something for you todo ; your talents will not 
be lost, but will find there an honorable application. Only 
live near me, love me as I am, with all my weaknesses 
and faults, and be sure that you will be very dear to 
your Irene. Come to me now, as soon as possible; I 
shall not havea minute’s peace till I have seen you.” 
The blood rushed to Litvinof’s face, remained there 


for a minute, and then fell back heavily upon his heart. 


oOmoke. 259 


He again read Irene's letter, and again, as once before 
at Moscow, dropped senseless on the sofa. <A dark 
abyss seemed suddenly to yawn before him, and he 
looked about him in stupid terror. He was again made 
the victim of caprice, worse than that, of deceit and 


fraud. His life hopes were torn up, as it were, by the 


roots, and now the last branch to which he could have. 


clung, was wrested from him. “ Follow us to St. Peters- 
burg,” he repeated, with a sardonic laugh. “ We will 
find something there for you todo. They would make 
a gentleman of the bed-chamber of me, perhaps. Whom 
does she mean by ‘we’? There is something mysterious 
and terrible about her past life that she wishes to de- 
stroy—something belonging to this world .of intrigue— 
this society of Belskys and Dolskys. What a magnifi- 
cent fate would be in store for me! To live near her, 
to visit her, to share the melancholy and corruption of 
the fashionable lady, who is tired of society and yet can 
not live away from it. To be the guest of the house, 
and naturally the friend of His Excellency... . until 

the caprice dies away, until the novelty has passed, and | 
I am displaced by the stout officer or M. Finikof. This 
is all possible and may seem honorable to some. Does 
she not speak of usefully employing my ‘talents’? As 


regards our plan, however, thatis only a dream. ,... 


260 Smoke. 


Now arose in Litvinof’s soul wild bursts of passion, 
like the sudden gusts which precede a storm. Each 
succeeding sentence in Irene’s letter increased his 
wrath ; he was most angered by her assurances of the 
constancy of her affection. “This can not be,” he cried 
at last; ‘‘I will not permit her to dispose of my life so 
Cruell yok otae 

~ Litvinof rose suddenly and caught up his hat. But 
what was hetodo? Gotoher? Answerher letter? He 
stood still and his arms fell heavily by his side. What 
was he to do ? 

Had he not himself offered her this fatal opportunity 
for choice? It was not what he desired, but it was the 
best that he could do. She had deceived him, that was 
true; she was the first to speak of leaving all and fol- - 
lowing him, that too was true; but she did not deny her 
fault, she called herself a weak woman, she did not wish 
to deceive him as she had deceived herself. How could 
he answer that? She was not hypocritical at least, she 
_was frank even to cruelty. There was nothing that com- 
pelled her to explain herself thus promptly ; she might 
have kept him patient by her promises, and held him in 
suspense until the time for her departure with her hus- 
band for Italy. But she had poisoned his life ; two lives — 


in fact. Yet, when he thought of Tatiana, it was not 


WHO En 1 o. 261 


Irene that was at fault, it was himself alone ; he could 
not cast off the responsibility of this wrong, it was like 
an iron fetter around his neck. These were the facts ; 
what now remained for him to do ? 

He threw himself again upon the sofa,—and 
again, darkly and painfully, the moments flew swiftly 
Dee 

“ Yet if I can believe her,” he said suddenly, “she 
loves me. Is there not something like an unyielding 
law of nature in this passion which has smouldered for so 
many years, only to break out again with so much fury? 
Hive atot. Petersburg. .... I should noj be the 
first one who has occupied such a position. “Where 
could I have taken her if she had fled with me?’ He 
began todream again; Irene appeared before him as he 
remembered her the last time they had met; but only 
for.a moment; he again assumed control of his imagina- 
tion and, with increased anger, put away these memories 
and this seductive image. “You hold out to me a 
golden cup,” he cried, “ but there is poison in it, your 
white wings are soiled... . Leave me! Remain here 
with you, when ‘I have... given up her who was 
to be my wife .... that would be too infamous!” 
Xe He wrung his hands in agony, and another face, with 


traces of suffering upon it, with a mute reproach in 


262 Smoke. 


its farewell glance, rose before him from the dark 
ADYSS: sh st. 

Litvinof thus tortured himself for a long time ; for a 
long time these thoughts kept passing hurriedly through 
his fevered brain. At last he became calm; he had 
made a ne decision. From the beginning, he had 
known that he would arrive at this result. It had first 
appeared to him like a point in the far distance, scarcely 
perceptible through the darkness and fury of the inward 
storm ; it had slowly but irresistibly approached him, un- 
til at last it had planted itself coldly, like a blade of steel, 
within his breast. 

Litvinof drew his trunk from the corner of the room, 
packed it again, in a mechanical kind of way, without 
hurry or confusion; he then rang for the waiter, paid 
his bill, and sent the following note, written in Russian, 
tou.lrene : : 

“1 do not know whether you have, this time, done me 
a greater wrong than you did before, but the blow itself 
is much more violent. ... Itis the last. You say to 
_me,I can not; I answer you in the same words ; I can 
not... do what you desire; I can not and I will 
not. Do not answer me. It will be impossible for ~ 
you to give me the only answer that I will accept. I 


leave to-morrow morning by the first train. Fare 


Smoke. | 263 


well, may you be happy. We shall probably never meet 
again.” 

Litvinof did not leave his room during the whole day. 
Did he expect an answer to his note? I can not tell. 
Toward seven o’clock, a lady wrapped in a dark cloak, 
with a thick veil over her face, twice approached the en- 
trance to his hotel. Having gone away a little distance, 
and having noticed something which evidently startled 
her, she finally, with a determined gesture, turned her 
steps a third time in the same direction. 

‘‘Where are you going, Irene Pavlovna?” cried a 
panting voice behind her. 

She turned about with a sudden, nervous motion. . . 
Potoughine was running after her. She stood still, 
thought a moment, then moved toward him and seized 
him by the hand. 

“Take me away,’ take me away,” she cried. 

“ What is the matter, Irene Pavlovna ?” 

“ Take me away,” she repeated ina firmer tone, “ un- 
less you wish me to stay here forever.” 

Potoughine bowed humbly, and both of. them were 
soon lost to view. 

Early the next morning, as Litvinof was on the point 
of leaving, Potoughine entered his room. He came 


toward him and grasped his hand without speaking a 


264 Sm oke, 


word, Litvinof also was silent. They both wore acon 
strained look, and both seemed making vain attempts 
to smile. 

“T came to wish you a pleasant journey,” finally 
stammered Potoughine. 

“How did you know that I was going away to-day ?” 
asked Litvinof. 

Potoughine was looking attentively at the ceiling. . . 
“IT heard of it. . . from one you know. The last con- 
versation we had together was so strange. . . I did not 
like to have you go away, without expressing to you my 
sincere sympathy.” 

“You sympathize with me now?... when I am 
going away ...?” 

Potoughine gave Litvinof a sad look. 

“Ah! Gregory Mikhailovitch, Gregory Mikhailo- 
vitch,” he said, with a deep sigh, “we do not need to be 
cautious and reserved with each other. I believe you 
are not very familiar with our national literature, and 
probably you have never heard of Vaska Bouslaef ?” 

“ Of whom ?” 

“Of Vaska Bouslaef, the worthy Novogorodian ... . 
his story is recorded in the chronicles of Kircha Dani- 
lof. ; 


‘What Bouslaef?” growled Litvinof, who was some- 


Smoke. 265 


what disconcerted by this unexpected turn of the con- 
versation. ‘I do not know him.” 

“T presume not. I wish, however, to call your atten- 
tion to the story. Vaska Bouslaef, after having led hig 
Novogorodians on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and after 
having, to their great horror, bathed in the sacred river 
Jordan, this logical Vaska Bouslaef climbed to the top 
of Mount Tabor. On the summit of this mountain 
there was a stone which men of every nation had tried, 
in vain, to move. Vaska wished to make the attempt. 
As he was climbing up, a skull lay in his path, and he 
kicked it from him. The skull spoke, saying, ‘Why do 
you spurn me? I once was living, I now am rolling in 
the dust; your fate will be like mine.’ In fact, Vaska 


tried to move the stone and had almost started it, when 


his foot slipped, and falling forward, he broke his skull. ~ 


I ought here to observe to my friends, the lovers of the 
Slave, who are so much inclined to spurn the skulls of 
other ‘effete’ nations, that it would be well for them 
to reflect upon this legend.” 

“ But what has all this to do with me ?” interrupted 
Litvinof impatiently. “It is time for me to go; ex- 
Ruse Mies sre 

“It has this to do with you,” answered Potoughine, 


while his eyes shone with so friendly a light that Lit: 


i 
PON re tm Sees 


266 Smoke. 


vinof was astonished by it; “that as you have not 


spurned the skull, perhaps in return, you may be able 
to move the fatal stone. I do not wish to detain you, 
only permit me to say farewell.” 

“J shall not try to move it,” answered Litvinof, as 
he embraced Potoughine ; and with the sad feelings that 
filled his heart, there mingled, for a moment, a senti- 


ment of pity for this poor, solitary being. But he must 


go. He began to gather up his luggage. 


“Can I carry any thing for you ?” said Potoughine. 

“No, I thank you, do not disturb yourself; I can 
easily carry every thing myself.” 

He put on his hat, and took up his carpet-bag. 

“You were saying,’ he inquired, turning as he 
reached the door, “ that you had seen her ?” 

“Yes,” 

“Well .. . what is she doing ?” 

Potoughine did not reply at once. 

‘She expected you yesterday ... She will look for 
you to-day.” 

Ah. 4 tell hep 2, .0¢ m0, ites) domnoy coed: 
Good-by . . . good-by.” 

Litvinof rapidly descended the stairs, threw himself 
into a Carriage, and arrived at the depot without casting 


a single glance on the town, where he was leaving what 


Smoke. 267 


seemed a part of his own life. ... He appeared to 
have trusted himself to a strong wave which was bearing 
him swiftly on, and he seemed firmly resolved not to 
make an effort to escape from it. Already he had 
reached the railway carriage. 

“Gregory Mikhailovitch” .... murmured a sup- 
pliant voice behind him. 

He trembled. Could it be Irene? It was, indeed. 
She was standing on the platform wrapped in her maid’s 
shawl, her tresses falling loosely from beneath her hat. 
She was gazing on him with eyes that were half closed. 
“Return, return; I have come to look for you,” those 
eyes appeared to say to him. What did they not pro- 
mise ? Shedidnot move ; she had no strength to speak, 
but by her attitude and expression seemed beseeching 
him for mercy. 

Litvinof could scarcely resist the temptation to give 
way, to spring toward her, but the saving wave still bore 
him on. He leaped into the carriage, and, turning to 
ward Irene, pointed to a vacant seat at his side. She. 
understood him. There was yet time. A step, a single 
motion, and they would be borne away together. ... 
While she hesitated, the whistle sounded and the train 
moved on. 


Litvinof threw himself back upon the seat. Irene 


268 Smoke. 


staggered to a bench, and sank down upon it, to the 
great astonishment of a certain diplomatist, who hap 
pened to be strolling in that direction. 

He was only slightly acquainted with Irene, but felt 
greatly interested in her. Seeing that she appeared ta 
have fainted away, he thought it his duty as a gallant 
gentleman to go at once to her assistance. His aston- 
ishment was increased, however, when at the first word 
that he uttered, she rose suddenly, pushed away his 
offered arm, and gaining the street, quickly disappeared 
in one of those white fogs, which are so common at 


Baden in the early days of autumn. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


I once entered the hut of a peasant woman who had 
just lost her only son; to my great surprise, I found 
her calm, almost cheerful. “Do not wonder,” said her 
husband, who doubtless noticed the impression made 
upon me, “‘ she is hardened into lovenow.” Litvinof was 
thus ossified—a perfect calm had taken possession of 
him during the first few hours of hisjourney. Entirely 
worn out, almost unconscious, he was yet alive, after all 
the pain and torture of the last week, after all the blows 
which had fallen, one after another, upon him. He was 
not one who could, with impunity, receive such blows, 
He had now no plan before him, he tried to drive all 
| thought from his mind ; he was going to Russia because 
he must go somewhere ; but he had no object in going 
thither. He had lost all sense of his own individuality ; 
he took no notice of his own acts. It seemed to him 
sometimes as though he were carrying about with him 
his own corpse ; it was only a painful sense of hopeless 
grief that convinced him he was still alive. Sometimes 


it seemed impossible to him that a woman, taat paszion 


270 has, Smoke. 


could have so influenced him. ... “ What shameful 
weakness !”? he murmured, and throwing back his cloak, 
he settled himself more comfortably in his seat. He 
must now begin a new life, he thought. A moment 
more, and he was smiling bitterly, astonished at himself. 
He looked out of the window. It was an unpleasant 
day ; it did not rain, but the fog was dense and low 
clouds covered the sky. The train was moving against 
the wind; clouds of smoke, now light, now dark, 
rolled by the window. Litvinof watched these clouds. 
Ceaselessly they rose and fell, clinging to the grass and 
bushes, stretching themselves out, melting in the damp 
air, or whirling about in eddies, ever changing yet ever 
the same. Sometimes the wind changed, or the road 
made a turn, then all this mass of vapor would suddenly 
disappear, only to be seen again immediately, on the 
other side, and, in an interminable cloud, hide from 
view the valley of the Rhine. 

Litvinof continued to gaze in silence ; an odd fancy 
had taken possession of him. He was alone in the 
carriage ; there was no one to listen to him. “Smoke! 
smoke !” he kept repeating to himself, and suddenly all 
the past seemed like smoke to him: his whole life, his 
life in Russia ; all that was human, but chiefly all that 


was Russian in his experience. “ All is but smoke and 


Smoke. 2 71 


vapour,” he thought ; “every thing is constantly changing, 
one shape resolves itself into another, one event suc- 
ceeds another, but in reality every thing remains the 
same. There is much stir and confusion, but all these 
clouds vanish at last without leaving any trace, without | 
having accomplished any thing. The wind changes its | 
direction, they pass to the other side and there continue me 
their feverish and fruitless motion.” He remembered 
what had taken place during the last few years, and 
how great had been the tumult and excitement... . oy 
** Smoke,” he muttered, “smoke.” He remembered 
the noisy and disorderly discussions in Goubaret’s room, Ls hs 
and the disputes which he had heard between other 
persons, of high and low degree, radical and conserva- 
tive. oldand young. . . ‘‘ Smoke!” he repeated, ‘*‘ smoke 
and vapor!” He thought finally of the famous evening 
party, of the speeches and arguments of the statesmen 
there, and also of Potoughine’s long disquisitions... . 
o« Smoke ! smoke !” he cried, “and nothing more.” Then 
his own efforts, his desires, his trials and his dreams all. 
came before his mind. The memory of these served 
oniy to provoke a gesture of discouragement. Mean- 
while the train was rushing on. Rastadt, Carlsruhe, 
and Bruchsal were already far behind him; on the right 


the mountains retreated in the distance, then approached 


- 


272 Smoke. 


again, but they were now less lofty and not covered 
with trees as before. The train made a short turn; 
they were at Heidelberg. The carriages glided into the 
station; the newsdealers began to cry all kinds of 
papers, even these of Russian origin. "Many of the 
travelers stepped out upon the platform and walked 
about, but Litvinof did not leave his place ; he was sit- 
ting there with his head bowed down. Suddenly he was 
called by name; he looked up; Bindasof’s face was 
visible in the doorway, and behind it (could he be mis- 
taken ?) there surely were the faces he had lately seen 
at Baden. There was Madame Soukhantchikof, there 
were Vorochilof and Bambaef. All were looking at him, 
while Bindasof cried out, 

“Where is Pichtchalkin ? we expected him; but no 
matter, come on; we are going to call on Goubaref.” 

“Yes, brother, yes, Goubaref expects us ; come on,” 
repeated Bambaef, tossing his arms up and dewn. 

Litvinof would have been angry, if he had not felt too 
sad at heart. He first stared at Bindasof, then turned 
away in silence. 

“Do you not understand, Goubaref is here,” cried 
Madame Soukhantchikof, her eyes starting from their 
sockets. 


Litvinof did not stir. 


Smoke. 273 


“ But listen, Litvinof,” cried Bambaef, returning to 
the charge, “not only is Goubaref here, but also a 
whole phalanx of young, intelligent and distinguished 
Russians; they are all interested in natural science, 
and all have the most liberal opinions. Remain here to 
see them at all events. One of them isacertain... 
I have forgotten his name; he is a prodigy of genius 
though.” 

“Oh! leave him alone, Rostislaf Ardalionitch,” said 
Madame Soukhantchikof. ‘ You see what this man is, 
his fimily are all like him. He has an aunt, whom I 
thought, at first, to be a worthy woman. I was iravel- 
ing with her only two days ago, however; she had 
been but a short time at Baden and was on Ler way 
home. While we were on the train, I began to ques- 
tion her. Will you believe it? I could scarc-ly get a 
word from this hateful, proud aristocrat.” 

Poor Capitoline Markovna, to be called an aristocrat ! 
Could she ever have dreamt of such a humiliation ? 

Lity..of was still silent; he turned yet further from 
them and pulled his hat over his eyes. At last the train 
started. 

“Say something, you man of stone!” cried Bindasof 
“What do you act so for? You mole! you sleepy: 


head !” 


er ne ie 


a 


274 Smoke. 


The train was moving faster, he could now insult him 
with perfect safety. 
“ Miser! snail! periwig!” he added. 
Was this last appellation original with Bindasof, or 
had he borrowed it from some one? I do not know ; 
ere is one thing certain, however, it seemed so witty 
to two of the young, intelligent and distinguished gen- 
tlemen, interested in natural science, who were stand- 
| ing near, that a few days afterward, it made its.appear- 
ance in a Russian periodical which was at that time 
| published at Heidelberg.* 


Litvinof again returned to his refrain: ‘“ Smoke, 





smoke, smoke!” 
~ ‘Here, for instance,” he said to himself, “there are 
at Heidelberg more than a hundred Russian students ; 
they are all studying chemistry, physics and physiology, 
and will not think or speak on any other subjects. Four 
| or five years from now, there will not be fifteen of our 
; countrymen studying under these same professors. . . 


The wind will have changed, the smoke will blow on 


the other side... Smoke... smoke... smoke 4 


* A fact. 
t This presentiment of Litvinof is now realized: in 1866, there were but 
thirteen Russian students at Heidelberg during the summer, and only 


‘welve in winter. 


Smoke. 275 


During the night, he passed through Cassel. As the 
twilight deepened into darkness, an intolerable agony 
preyed like a vulture at his heart. He began to weep, 
with his head buried im one corner of the carriage. His 
tears flowed for a long time, without, however, affording 
him the least relief. 

During this time, in a hotel at Cassel, Tatiana was 
lying on a bed, burning with fever ; Capitoline Markov- 
na was standing near her. 

“Tania,” she said to her, “do let me send a telegram 
to Gregory Mikhailovitch ; do let me, Tania.” 

“No, aunt,” she answered, “you must not. Do not 
be frightened. Give me some water; I shall soon be 
peter.” 

In fact, a week afterward, she had quite recovered, 


and the aunt and niece proceeded on their journey. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Without stopping either at St. Petersburg or Moscow, 
Litvinof returned to his humble home. He was startled 
when he first saw his father, he appeared so old and bro- 
ken down. The old man, on seeing his son again, was 
as much delighted as one so near the close of life could 
be. He hastened to give him charge of his affairs, 
which were in great disorder, and, after a few weeks of 
sickness and pain, passed quietly away. Litvinof now 
was left alone in the old family home; he began to im- 
prove his lands with an aching heart, without any liking 
for his work, without hope, without money. The man- 
agement of an estate in Russia is no pleasant task, as 
too many of us know. We will not therefore enter too 
minutely into the difficulties which Litvinof encountered. 

-- It was impossible for him to introduce improvements 


and reforms ; the application of that knowledge which 





he had acquired in foreign countries had to be indefinite- 
ly postponed; necessity compelled him to live as he 
could from day to day, and to make all manner of con- 


eessions, both material and moral. The new order of 


Smoke. 277 


things worked badly, the old forms had lost their 
strength ; inexperience had to struggle with dishonesty___. 
and fraud. The old institutions had no sustaining pow: — 
er, they were breaking asunder like our vast, mossy 
marshes: only that noble word, ‘‘liberty,’’ pronounced 
by the Czar, floated over them, as the Spirit of God 
once moved upon the face of the waters. It was neces- 
sary, above all else, to have patience, not passive, but 
diligent, persistent and indomitable patience. This was 
doubly painful for Litvinof, in the state of mind in which 
he found himself, Life had few attractions for him . . 
could labor then present him any ? 

A year passed by, a second followed it, the third had 
already begun its course. The grand thought of eman-* 
cipation was commencing to produce its fruits, to in- 
fluence the customs of the people. The seed which had 
been sown had sprouted and appeared above the ground, 
and could now no more be trampled on by either an ~ 
Open or a secret enemy. Although Litvinof finally 
rented to the peasants the greater portion of his land on 
shares, and although this land was all cultivated in the 
primitive manner, yet he met with some success. He 
started his manufactory, worked a small farm with five 
free laborers whom he had finally selected after trying 


forty, and paid off his heaviest debts. His natural pow- 


278 Smoke. 


ers returned to him; he began to look like himself 
again. During all this time a feeling of deep sadness 
remained with him: he was leading a life which ill ac- 
corded with his years; he had shut himself up within a 
narrow circle, but he no longer exhibited his former in- 
difference to every thing about him; he walked among 
men like a living man. The last traces of the charm, 
under whose influence he had fallen, had also disappear- 
ed; and all that had taken place at Baden now seem- 
ed to him like a dream. And Irene . . . her image, too, 
had paled away and vanished; only something vague- 
ly dangerous was dimly outlined through the mist which 
concealed it. He rarely had news of Tatiana ; he only - 
knew that she was with her aunt at her home, which 
was some distance from her own family estates ; that 
she lived there quietly, going out but little and receiv- 
ing few visitors ; also that she was enjoying excellent 
health. One fine May morning, he was seated in his 
study, carelessly glancing over the last number of a pa- 
per from St. Petersburg, when his servant announced 
the arrival of his uncle. This uncle, a cousin of Capi- 
toline Markovna, had just been making her a visit. He 
had bought an estate in Litvinof’s neighborhood and was 
about taking possession of it. He remained several days 


with his nephew, and talked much with him concerning 


SHORE 2 79 


Tatiana. On the day after his departure, Litvinof wrote 
to his cousin, for the first time since their separation. 
He asked permission to open a correspondence with her, 
and also stated that he hoped some time to meet her 
again. He awaited her answer with Oreatanxicty, .aer. 
It came at last. Tatiana replied in a friendly manner. 
“Tf you are thinking of making us a visit,” she said in 
closing, ‘‘ we shall be very happy to see you at any time.” 
Captoline Markovna also sent him her regards. Litvi- 
nof evinced an almost childish joy ; it was a long, long 
time since his heart had beaten so gayly. Every 
thing seemed bright and cheerful to him. When the 
sun rises and drives away the darkness of the night, a 
light breeze passes over the earth’s bosom, reviving all 
nature with its cooling breath.  Litvinof felt thus 
strengthened and rejoiced by some mysterious influence. 
He was all smiles that day, even-when overseeing his 
laborers and giving them their orders. He immediately 
began to prepare for the journey, and two weeks later 


was on his way to visit Tatiana. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


He traveled slowly, by cross-roads, without any ad- 
venture of importance, except that once the tire came 
from one of the wheels. The blacksmith worked 
long upon it, swearing at the wheel and at himself, but 
finally declared that he could not repair it. Fortunate- 
ly they found that they could get on very well, even 
with a broken wheel, as long as the road was “soft ””— 
that is, muddy. This accident led to three curious en- 
‘counters. At one post-house he came upon a meeting 
of land-owners, presided over by Pichtchalkin, who ap- 
peared to him like another’ Solon or Solomon, so full 
of wisdom were his words, so perfectly did he seem to 
possess the confidence of all those about him. Picht- 
chalkin’s very appearance reminded one of the seven 
sages of antiquity: he had but one lock of hair upon 
his head ; an expression of dignified and happy virtue 
was imprinted on his stolid and solemn countenance. 
He congratulated Litvinof on having come—if he might 
use so ambitious an expression—into his own province, 


then sat majestically silent, overcome by the great 


Smoke. 281 


thoughts which crowded upon him. Litvinof received 
some news from him, however, especially in relation to 
Vorochilof. It seemed that he had again entered the 
army, and had already read to the officers of his 
regiment a lecture on Buddhism or Dynamism, or some- 
thing of that nature... . Pichtchalkin could not 
remember exactly what. At another station, there was 
much delay in harnessing the horses ; it was just day- 
light. Litvinof was asleep in the carriage. A voice 
which seemed familiar woke him up; he opened his 
eyes. . . Sure enough, there was M. Goubaref, ina 
gray jacket and wide pantaloons, standing on the post- 
house steps, and uttering imprecations against every 
one. He looked again. No; it was not M. Goubaref 
. . . but how perfect the resemblance! This person 
was almost exactly like him, only his mouth was larger, 
he had a better set of teeth, a more savage look, a lar- 
ger nose, a more bushy beard and, in general, a stouter 
and heavier appearance. 

“‘ R-r-rascals ! r-r-rascals !” he was shouting in a des- 
perately angry tone, “heathen that you are! Where is 
your so much vaunted liberty? ... Wecan not even 
have our horses! .. . R-r-rascals !” 

**R-r-rascals! r-r-rascals !”” roared a second voice 


behind him, and another person, in gray jacket and 


282 Smoke. 


wide pantaoons, appeared. upon the steps. This was 
really, without any possible doubt, the genuine M.Gou — * 
baref, Stephen Nikolaevitch Goubaref. ‘“ Heathen !’ 
he continued, following his brother's cue, (it 
was his elder brother, the gentleman of the old 
school who had charge of his affairs.) “We must 
crush them—that is the only thing to do. Hear them 
talk of liberty, of the mayor! ... Wait a moment, I 
will show them . .. Where is M. Roston? Whateis 
he doing ? He ought to save us from this trouble, the 
hazy rascalins-. .” 

“]T told you, brother,” remarked the elder Goubaref, 
“that he was good for nothing; he is a very lazy 
rascal. Monsieur Roston! Monsieur Roston! Where 
are your” 

“Roston ! Roston !” howled the younger, the great 
Goubaref. ‘Call louder, can’t you, Dorimedonthe Ni- 
colaevitch !” 

““T have called till 1 am hoarse, Stephen Nicolaevitch. 
Monsieur Roston !” 

“Here! here!” answered a panting voice, and at the 
corner of the house appeared . . . Bambaef. 

Litvinof gave a cry of surprise. ‘The unfortunate en- 
thusiast was covered with an old overcoat, the sleeves of 


which were allin rags. His features had not changed; 


Smoke. 283 


they had shrunk up rather ; his haggard eyes wore a look 
of servile terror and submission, while the dyed mustaches 
still ornamented his thick upper lip. From the top of the 
steps, the two brothers began, with the most touching 
unanimity, to hurl curses on him. He stopped short in 
the mud, and bowing humbly, endeavored to appease 
them bya servile smile, all the time kneading his hat 
with his large red hands, and assuring them that the 
horses would be ready in a moment. The brothers, 
however, did not cease abusing him, until the younger 
one perceived Litvinof. Either he recognized him, or 
was ashamed to make such an exhibition of himself be- 
fore a stranger; for he suddenly turned about like a 
bear, and, biting his beard, returned into the post-house. 
The elder brother also ceased, and with a no less 
bear-like step, followed him in his retreat. It was very 
evident that the great Goubaref had not lost his influ- 
ence in his own country. 

Bambaef was following the two brothers when 
Litvinof called him by name. He turned about, 
shadelt his eyes with his hand and _ recognizing ” 
Litvinof, ran toward him with outstretched arms. 
When he reached the carriage, however, he leaned 
against the door, while the tears spouted from his 


eyes. 


284 Smoke. 


“Come, come,” said Litvinof, leaning over him, and 
touching him on the shoulder. 

He still kept sobbing. 

“ See... see what I have come to”. . . he stam. 
mered. 

“Bambaef!” roared the brothers, from within the 
house. : 

Bambaef raised his head, and quickly wiped away his 
tears. 

“Good-day, my friend,” he murmured, “ good-day 
and good-by. You hear, they are calling me.” 

But what brings you here ?” asked Litvinof. “ What 
does all this mean? I thought they were calling a 
Mrenchman’) 20.2” 

“J am their steward,” answered Bambaef, pointing 
toward the house. “They have given me a”French 
name, as a joke. What else could I do, brother? I 
was nearly dead with hunger, I was destitute, I had to 
take the yoke upon me. I am not ambitious now.” 

“ Has #e been in Russia a long time? How could he 
leave his friends ?” 

“Qh! brother, those friendships are all ended... 
As to Madame Soukhantchikof, he simply showed her 
the door. Overcome with grief, she went to Portugal.” 


“ What, to Portugal ? How ridiculous!” 
) = 


Smoke. 285 


“Yes, brother, to Portugal, in company with two Ma- 
trenians.”’ 

“ With whom ?” 

“With the Matrenians. That is the name of her 
party.” 

“Has Matrena Kouzminichna a party? Is ita large 


one ?” 


“There are three members of it .. It is nearly six 


months since Goubaref returned to Russia. Some of 
the others were placed under guard, but nothing has 
happened to him. He lives in the country with his 
brother, and if you could now hear. . .” 

“ Bambaef !” 

“Right away, Stephen Nicolaevitch, right away. I 
trust you are flourishing and doing well, dear friend. 
Where are you going now? Do you remember Baden ? 
That was the life for you. That makes me think of 
Bindasof. Did you know that he was dead? He was 


employed in the brandy business, got into a quarrel 


| 
| 


= 


in a tavern and had. his head broken by a billiard cue. | 


Yes, the times are very hard. But I will always boast 
of Russia, Russia alone. Look at that pair of geese ; 
you can not find their equal in all Europe. They are 


genuine Armazas geese.” 


After this final burst of enthusiasm, Bambaef ran into 


286 Smoke. 


the post-house, whence he was being loaded with all 
manner of imprecations. 

Toward the close of the same day, Litvinof drew near 
Tatiana’s home. The little house in which she lived” 
was situated on the side of a hill, near the bank of a 
small river, and was surrounded by a new-made garden. 
The house was new, scarcely finished in fact; it could 
be seen from quite a distance, overlooking the river and 
the fields. Litvinof descried it wnile yet a long way 
off, During the last stage of his journey, he had felt 
greatly troubled, and his trouble kept increasing. “* How 
shall I be received,” he thought ; “how shall I present 
myself?” In order to escape from this train of thought, 
he commenced a conversation with the postilion, an 
aged peasant with a gray beard, who was able, how- 
ever, to count more miles in the journey than thére 
really were. He asked him if he knew the owners of 
Chestof. 

“Of Chestof? Of course I know them! They are 

“good women, nothing can be said against them. They 
help the poor. They are real doctors. They are always 
doing good, If any one is taken sick or is hurt in any 
way, he goes right off to them; they give him a lit- 
tle powder or a plaster, and he is cured. And he has 


ou.y tothank them. ‘We do not do this for money,’ they 


Smoke. 287 


say. They have opened a school too. . . that, though, 
I think is very foolish.” | 

While the postilion was thus talking, Litvinof could 
not take his eyes from the little house. A lady dressed 
in white appeared on the piazza, looked out as though 
watching for some one, then disappeared again. 

“ Was it not Tatiana ?” 

His heart was beating violently. 

“ Faster! faster!’ he cried to the postilion, © 

The postilion whipped up his horses. A few minutes 
more... and the carriage passed through an open 
gate. On the piazza he saw Capitoline Markovna run- 
ning to meethim. Out of breath, her face red with ex- 
citement, she cried out, “I knew you, I knew you 
first! It was you! it was you! I knew you!” 

Litvinof leaped lightly to the ground, without giving 
the little Cossack time to open the door for him, and; 
hurriedly kissing Capitoline Markovna, rushed into the 
house, ran through the halland dining-room ... and 
found himself face to face with Tatiana. She was look- 
ing on him with a kind and gentle glance, (she had 
grown a little thinner, which did not at all detract from 
her appearance,) and holding out herhandtohim. He 
did not take it, but fell upon his knees before her. She . 


had not expected this and knew not what to say or do 


288 Smoke. 


e - « tearscame to her eyes; she was frightened, but, at 
the same time, there was an expression of joy upon her 
face. 

“What is this, Gregory Mikhailovitch ?” she said at 
last. 

He was kissing the hem of her dress, recalling, with 
a happy and contrite heart, how before at Baden he had 
thus fallen at her feet... Butthen... and now! 

** Tania,” he cried, “ Tania, can you forgive me ?” 

“ Aunt, aunt, what does this mean ?” she cried, turn- 
ing toward Capitoline Markovna, who had just entered 
the room. 

“Leave him alone, Tatiana,” answered the good old 
lady ; “do you not see he has repented.” 

We need add no more, the reader can supply the rest. 

But Irene ? 

She is still as fascinating as ever, notwithstanding het 
tuirty years ; she has a countless host of admirers, ane 
would have more if... 

Will the reader permit us to take him fora moment to 
St. Petersburg, and introduce him within one of the 
most splendid mansions of that city. Here is a vast 
apartment, decorated, I will not say richly—that is too 
poor a word—but sumptuously, with solemn splendor 


and exquisite art. Do you not feel a thrill of awe? 


Smoke. 289 


You have penetrated within a temple consecrated to the 
purest virtue, to the highest morality, to that which is 
not earthly but heavenly in its nature. Here reigns the 
most mysterious silence. Curtains of velvet on the 
doors and at the windows, a soft, thick carpet on the 
fioor, every thing about the room is arranged to soften 
even the slightest sound. The subdued light of shaded 
lamps serves to inspire gentle thoughts; a soft, sweet 
odor is perceptible in the air ; even the tea-urn on the 
table bubbles in a reserved and cautious manner. 
The lady of the house, a very important person in St. 
Petersburg society, speaks in so lowa tone as scarcely 
to be heard. She always talks as though there werea 
very sick person in the room, while her sister, who is 
pouring out the tea, moves her lips, without making the 
slightest sound, so thata young man sitting opposite-her, 
who has by chance entered this temple, can not under- 
stand what she wishes of him, though she is murmuring 
for the sixth time, “ Will you take a cup of tea?” In 
the corners of the room are standing men, young but 
venerable: their looks betray a quiet servility; the ex- 
pression of their faces is obsequious but unalterably calm ; 
numerous decorations sparkle on their manly breasts. 
The conversation too is very peaceable ; its subjects are 


of areligious or patriotic nature, as, for instance, the 


290 : Smoke. 


Mysterious Drop, by Glinka, the missions to the East, 
the monasteries and orders of White Russia. Servants 
now and then enter the room ; their immense calves, en- 
cased in silk stockings, tremble silently at every step. 
The respectful bearing of these servants renders still 
more apparent the general air of virtue, piety and dis- 
tinction. ... it is indeed a temple! . 

“ Fave you seen Madame Ratmirof to-day ?” a lady 
languidly inquires. 

“T met her to-day, while calling on Lise,” answers 
the lady of the house, with an etherial voice, which mur- 
murs softly like an Eolian harp. “T am sorry for her 
... She has acapricious nature ... she is not sin- 
cere.” - 

“Yes, yes,’ replies the lady who first spoke. “ You 
remember Peter Ivanovitch said, and said very justly, 
that she had a capricious nature.” 

“She is not sincere,” are the words exhaled like in- 
cense from the lips of the lady of the house. “Sheisa 
wayward creature; she has a capricious nature.” 

“‘ She has a capricious nature,” her sister’s lips seem 
to repeat, 

This is the reason why all the young men are not en- 
amored of lrene. They are afraid of her, they fear her 


“capricious nature.” This is the phrase generally used 


Smoke | 729) 


when speaking of Irene, and, like all such phrases, it con- 
tains something of truth. It is not alone the young men 
who fear her, but-also those of advanced years and high 
position. Noone elsecan so perfectly draw out the weak 
and ludicrous side of every character ; no one else can 
so stab one with a single word, a word the more cutting 
because it is spoken by rosy and smiling lips. It would 
be difficult to tell what is passing in her heart, but, amid 
all the crowd of her admirers, no one is spoken of as the 


favored one. 


Irene’s husband is rapidly advancing in that path - 


which the French call the path of honors. The stout 

officer has passed by him, while the polite one is left be~ 

hind. In the city where Irene dwells lives also our 

friend Sozonthe Potoughine ; he very seldom sees Irene. 

The little girl confided to his care is dead. There is 

no longer any necessity for continuing his acquaintance 
ith Madame Ratmirof. 





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